


Transitive Property of Equality

by flicked_switch



Series: Cleaning Up After Chris Carter [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s11e02 This, Episode: s11e03 Plus One, Episode: s11e04 The Lost Art Of Forehead Sweat, Episode: s11e05 Ghouli, Episode: s11e09 Nothing Lasts Forever, Episode: s11e10 My Struggle IV, F/M, Post-Episode: s11e01 My Struggle III, Post-Episode: s11e03 Plus One, Post-Episode: s11e05 Ghouli, Post-Episode: s11e06 Kitten, Post-Episode: s11e07 Rm9sbG93ZXJz, Post-Episode: s11e08 Familiar, Post-Episode: s11e09 Nothing Lasts Forever, Pre-Episode: s11e10 My Struggle IV ×
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-05-20 04:11:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 64,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14887377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flicked_switch/pseuds/flicked_switch
Summary: All the moments leading up to the COTP, candlelight confessions, and the revelation of miracle baby #2. Chapters will remain canon with the order and events of S11. SMUT to be found in all the places you would expect. ;)





	1. The Place We Called Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 11x01 - My Struggle III
> 
> Mulder takes Scully home.

**SCULLY**

It's true what they say about doctors being the worst patients, but to be fair, my medical history is extensive and complex. Providing a full and accurate medical history would take hours and most likely result in a psych consult, so I've learned to only ever disclose what is absolutely necessary. Being a neurologist myself, I can appreciate my doctor's concern, but she doesn't have all the of the facts and wouldn't know what to do with them even if I gave them to her. So for the second time today, I sign myself out of the hospital against medical advice.

After reviewing my MRIs, there is little doubt in my mind that the impulses driving my abnormal brain activity were somehow generated by my implant. The dull ache and burning sensation that coursed through the base of my skull and down into my neck just before losing consciousness doesn't fit the etiology of any known medically based seizure.

Eighteen hours later my neck still aches, but for an entirely different reason. One that may or may not be related to the visions I have received from Willam.

The man who entered my hospital room earlier this evening is someone that Mulder recognized as working for the syndicate, but our sources within the FBI have yet to formally identify him. All of this should frighten me more than it does, but at the moment, all I care about is getting out of here and going home to sleep in my own bed.

By the time Mulder and I leave the hospital, it's close to midnight. He hasn't let me out of his sight since he returned from Spartanburg. Under normal circumstances, I would find his zealously overprotective behavior to be suffocating and would insist that he give me space, but tonight I don't have the energy to fight him nor do I think that it would matter even if I did.  

The force of my assassin's hands has left me stiff, sore, and hoarse, limiting my responses to brief and very brief. So when he asks me if I'm hungry, I merely nod, settling into the passenger seat and resting my eyes as he merges into traffic.

 

* * *

 

I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have because when I come to we are pulling up to the house.

"Mulder," I croak, "I thought you were going to take me home?"

As soon as I say it, I regret it. Although I haven't lived here in close to four years, the house is still technically mine. I tried to sign it over to him after we separated, but he refused to sign the papers.

"This will always be your home too, Scully," he says softly, not meeting my eyes.

I didn't mean for it come across as a dig, but it clearly has.

_Great. As if today wasn't shitty enough._

"I'm sorry Mulder, I didn't mean … I'm just exhausted, and I don't have any clothes here."

"I stopped by the impound lot and cleaned out your car, so I have your keys and overnight bag. They're in the trunk."

I clearly slept through that pit stop.

"Oh … okay … thank you," is all I can manage to say.

"It wasn't a big deal. Common. Let's get inside. I think there might even be something that's eatable in the fridge," he says placing his hand on my thigh and giving it a light squeeze before exiting the car.

We climb the porch stairs together in silence. Once inside, he places my overnight bag at the bottom of the stairs and then makes his way into the kitchen.

"I'm going to start some tea. That should help soothe your throat."

"Mulder, you really don't have to—"

But he cuts me off before I can finish, raising his voice.

"Stop thanking me and telling me that I don't have to take care of you. If I hadn't come in when I did, that man would have killed you … you do realize that right?"

The look on his face stops me cold.

"Do you have any idea what that would have done to me?"

Grabbing the top of the one the kitchen chairs, he shifts his weight and looks down at the table in an attempt to calm himself. At first, I say nothing. Mulder is one of the most controlled people I have ever known. Even with everything we've been through in the last 25 years, I can still count on one hand how many times he has raised his voice at me in anger.

But anger isn't what I see now. What I see now is pure, unadulterated fear.

"I'm sorry Scully, I didn't mean to … I just—"

"It's okay," I say, interrupting him. "I buried you once — so yes, I have an idea." It comes out low and raspy, strained by events of the last 24 hours, but it silences him nonetheless.

As my words register, his eyes return to mine, and the fire in them dissipates.

Loss is something that we are both intimately familiar with.

Sighing, he releases his hold on the kitchen chair.

"I know you can take care of yourself, Scully. You've always been able to do that, but we still don't know for sure who sent him or why. Until we know, more I don't want you staying alone. If something happened you … something that I could have prevented … I would never forgive myself."

I don't know how to respond, so I don't.

"Are you sure you're not hungry?" he asks softly. "I have some yogurt in the fridge if you just want something light."

"No, but I will take some tea."

He nods and turns to turn on the stove, filling up the kettle and placing it over the burner.

"Why don't you head upstairs and take a shower. I'll come up in a minute with your tea and change the sheets."

"I'm sure they are fine."

"I haven't washed them in a while. I usually just sleep on the couch."

His tone is soft but final, and his message is clear. He's going to take care of me, and I'm going to let him because he's not taking 'no' for an answer.

 

* * *

 

Mulder wasn't kidding. The bed is made and looks as if it hasn't been used in months, but other than that, the room we once shared has changed very little in my absence.

My eyes are immediately drawn to a picture he has framed and prominently displayed on what was my bedside table. It's a picture of the two of us that I have never seen before. As I take a closer look, I recognize the scenery and the clothes we are wearing. The trip to the Keys had been a surprise anniversary gift. He must have had the film developed after I moved out and had it framed.

The realization causes a lump to form in my throat that is painful to swallow in more ways than one.

"There are some clean towels under the sink," he says, startling me as he enters the room behind me.

Although it's clear that he noted my interest in the picture, he doesn't say or do anything to draw attention to it, and for that I am grateful. I can hear him stripping the bed as I retreat into the bathroom.

It's not until I turn on the water and begin to disrobe that I realize that I have a problem.

Somewhere between the seizure, car accident, and struggle with the mysterious assassin, I have lost the ability to put my arms behind my back. I silently curse at my bra for a few moments before relenting and shutting off the water so that I don't have strain my voice to speak over it.

"Mulder?"

There's a periodic moment of silence before he responds.

"Yeah?"

"Can you come in here for a minute?"

"Um … yeah, sure, Scully, just ... give me a minute."

Within a few seconds, he's at the door.

"What's wrong Scully? Are you OKAY?"

"Yes, I'm fine, I just … I'm having trouble with the clasp, can you undo it for me?"

He steps into the bathroom and freezes.

"Jesus, Scully."

I'm half naked, but that's not why he's cursing.

"Is this from the accident or from …?"

His fingers gently trace over the bruising as he spins me to take a closer look.

"I'm not sure, but I can't quite get the … can you …?"

"Yeah."

He unclips my bra rubbing his hands lightly over my low back and shoulder blades until he reaches the tops of my shoulders. My back is to him, but his eyes meet mine in the mirror.

"I knew it was bad, but I had no idea it was this bad. Do you have any pain meds?"

"No … I'm okay … just going to be sore for a couple of days."

He doesn't believe me, but he doesn't press the issue either. Instead, he kisses the top of my head and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

I half expect him to be lingering around when I get out the shower, but he isn't.

The bed is covered with fresh sheets, and the clothes from my overnight bag are laid out at the edge of the bed. If I weren't so tired, I would probably be more embarrassed by the fact that he found one of his old tee shirts in my overnight bag. Although we've been separated for nearly four years now, I still find myself sleeping in his clothes. I silently curse myself for packing something so intimately personal in an overnight bag prepared to use on company time.

"Scully?"

"Just a minute," I say as I gingerly finish dressing.

When I open the door, he's waiting on the other side with a steaming cup of hot tea.

"Thank you."

He smiles.

"Got everything you need?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Okay. Well … I'll see you in the morning. If you need anything, I'll be down here."

For a moment, we just stand in silence, neither of us knowing quite what to say.

As I gaze into his eyes, I realize that what I want more than anything is for him to come to bed and wrap his arms around me, but I have no right to ask that of him. I threw that right away the moment I left him, so instead of asking him to stay, I allow him to kiss my forehead and then watch him walk away.

 

* * *

 

_I wake up to hands on my body._

_I want to scream, but I can't because there is no air in my lungs._

_Panicked, I kick, claw, and fight for my life, but my efforts are fruitless. Everything is moving in slow motion, and I am powerless to stop it. That's when it hits me … I'm dying … this must be what dying feels like. Unable to fight any longer, I surrender to fate and still my body. Just as my field of vision begins to darken into a black blur, I hear a familiar voice. A voice that clears the fog and fills my lungs with air._

He releases me quickly, narrowly avoiding getting headbutted as I bolt up out of bed.

"SCULLY … SCULLY … It's me … It's just a dream. It's me. Mulder."

I'm gasping for breath and unable to speak, but relief floods me as my vision clears.

"It's just a dream, Scully," he repeats softly. "I'm here. You're safe."

Once he sees that I have oriented back to reality, he wraps his arms around me, pulling my head into his chest.

I try to swallow the sob before it leaves my throat, but I can't. The tears quickly follow.

"Shhhhhh … It's OKAY. I'm here. You're safe."

This only makes me cry harder.

He lays us down gently, cradling my head against his chest — taking care to not to apply too much pressure to my bruised and battered body.

Neither of us speaks for quite some time.

When the tears subside, and my breathing normalizes, he's the one to break the silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I sniffle, trying to clear my nose and throat so that I can speak. I've made a mess of the shirt he's wearing. It's so wet in places that it's sticking to his skin, but I don't care, and I doubt he does either.

"I couldn't breathe."

It's likely not the detailed explanation he was looking for, but it's the only explanation that is required.

He takes a deep breath and pulls my body more tightly against his.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Scully."

"You can't promise that, Mulder. No more than I could promise it to you."

"I've gone to the ends of the earth for you … killed for you … and I would give my life for yours in a heartbeat. You know that."

I do know, but this conversation is quickly heading in a direction that I'm not ready to go. Not tonight. So I don't respond with words. Instead, I snuggle into his chest, wrapping my arms around him and intertwining my legs with his. I don't want to live like I'm living on borrowed time. I want to go to sleep in his arms comforted by the fact that I still have tomorrow to say all the things I need to say. So instead of making confessions of heart, I close my eyes and surrender to sleep as I listen to the beat of his heart.


	2. Evolution's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate ending to 11x02 - THIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story does include lines taken directly from the episodes S11e1(MS3), S11e2(This), and S9e20(The Truth,2). No copyright infringement intended. All duplication is strictly for the purpose of remaining canon with the X-Files mythology and overall storyline. Direct quotes can be found in bold. Credit: X-Files writers and FOX.

**MULDER**

"What do you think it all means?” she asks as we get into the car.

Considering all that has happened today it's a vague question.

"What do I think what means?"

"What's their end game? They've recruited some of the greatest minds of this century, but for what purpose?"

We didn't have much time to speak privately before backup arrived, so she doesn't know much about my impromptu meeting with Price other than the fact that it occurred.

"They claim they are saving mankind."

"Saving mankind?"

"Yeah, while you were wandering around bopping people on the head, Erika Price was schooling me on the finer points of evolution."

If I didn't have Scully's attention before, I certainly have it now.

"She's working with a guy who calls himself Y. The same guy I talked to in Spartanburg."

"The syndicate guy?"

"One in the same."

"What is Price's interest in a computer simulation? Last I heard she was still working for the DoD."

"I'm not sure who she's working for, but I get the distinct impression that she and Y are answering to someone else. Someone high up. Likely someone within the government."

"What did she want? I'm assuming there was more to this meeting than her schooling you on evolution."

"To tell me that the company had advised killing me — killing both of us."

I still haven't told her everything about Spartanburg. It's certainly no coincidence that a man on the syndicate's payroll made an attempt on her life mere hours after I offhandedly told Price and Y that I knew someone who could save us all, and that they knew her too. Scully was right. The Smoking Man didn't send the assassin. I did.

"So the man at the hospital and the men that came to the house … they were sent by the company? As in the CIA?"

"She wasn't kind enough to specify."

She ponders this for a moment before she responds.

"But why? Why tell you? Why not just kill you?"

"The deal Y offered me in Spartanburg … it's still on the table. Survival in exchange for killing Spender … they claim the virus he has bioengineered will change the world as we know it, killing every life form that doesn't possess immunity. The simulation exists to serve as the next phase of evolution … a way to carry on the human race if we are unable to stop him."

"We?"

"Y apparently made the argument that we are more valuable to the company alive, so assuming we stay out of their way and eliminate Spender, the assassins will stop coming, and we will be assimilated into modern evolution — that's the deal."

I'm not looking at her because I am driving in downtown traffic, but I don't need to see her face to translate her weighted silence. The idea that I could have possibly entertained the thought is enough to make her blood boil. We've both sacrificed too much to make deals with the devil.

"I didn't sign any papers or donate my brain to science Scully."

"Then what _exactly_ did you agree to?” she asks.

"I told her that I wanted to see the simulation for myself to better understand how it worked."

I leave out the part where I asked if she could be uploaded into the simulation with me.

I do, at least on some level, value my life.

"So you didn't say no?"

"No, but I didn't say yes either."

"Well, that's comforting."

"I wasn't sure what your status was, and I wasn't going to be able to help you holed up in a conference room. I said what I needed to say to get myself out of the room and in a position to get to you."

Sighing, she unscrews the lid to her water bottle and takes a drink, knowing she can't argue with me on that point. My timing was impeccable — as usual.

"So what happens now?" she asks after a moment of silence.

It's the same question I have been asking myself for several hours now. The powers to be clearly had enough resources to remove any and all evidence of the simulation's existence from a highly secured building on lockdown without even breaking a sweat. Yet they needed my cooperation and guidance to track down Spender? It doesn't add up. That can't be the reason Scully, and I are still alive. The more troubling question I've been mulling over is why would an organization so hell bound on ensuring our silence would suddenly allow us to walk away unscathed?

Out of all of the potential reasons why, there is only one that makes any sense to me, and the mere thought of it makes my hair stand on end.

"There is something else you should know," I say.

I pause for a moment, briefly glancing in her direction before returning my eyes to the road.

"Price told me something else ... something that I'm not sure I believe, but if there is any truth to it all, it could be a game changer."

"Okay ..."

"When I started asking questions about the simulation and what the process of being uploaded entailed, she made the comment that they could take pieces of the mind through cellular technology."

"Mulder that’s …”

"Insane. I know. But what if she's telling the truth … or a least a version of it?"

"Mulder, if that's true then they have unlimited access to the minds of millions including our own."

"Exactly. I know at the surface value it sounds like junk science, but let's operate under the assumption, even if only for a moment, that she’s telling the truth. They had me and could have easily trapped and captured you as well, yet they let us both go. After numerous attempts on our lives, they capture us and then just let us go? Think about that Scully. It doesn't make any sense. These are powerful people with vast resources, and they need _me_ to track down Spender? _Me?_ Everything they have told me has been smoke and mirrors … partial truths. I think what they really want is William."

She takes a deep breath and starts to speak, but I cut her off.

"I think they know about your connection to him … about the visions … that is the only thing that I can think of that would make us more valuable to them alive."

She's quiet for a moment before she responds.

"We need to check the house for bugs," she says quietly.

"Scully …"

"I think there is a much more logical explanation than mind-copying cellular technology Mulder."

I can't argue with her there. I'm certainly not going to take Erika Price at her word.

For a few moments, neither of us speak.

The implications are devastating.

Scully gave our son up for adoption to protect him and to give him a chance at a normal life. A life where he wouldn't have to grow up in fear of losing his parents or being taken by a shadow government who had invested interests in his alien DNA.

Had it all been for nothing?

"It's also possible that they have access to my medical records, or perhaps … perhaps they even have some sort of access to my implant," she says. Her voice is low and void of emotion.

I cringe at the thought, but she isn't wrong.

The implant inserted into the base of her skull cured her cancer, and there is little doubt in either of our minds that the science used to create it was developed by the syndicate. We have always feared that it's application extended beyond the realms of medicine, but removing it has always posed far too many risks. Risks we weren't willing to take.

"Or they bugged the house," I offer to try to divert attention away from the more disturbing possibilities.

 

* * *

 

We enter with our guns drawn, going room to room to ensure that we are alone before we start searching.

After nearly two and a half hours, we've found nothing to indicate that we were being monitored, but it's also possible that the bugs were here and then removed by the team of Russians.

"Scully!?"

"Upstairs," she says in a voice just loud enough for me to hear.

I find her squatting down at the foot of our bed picking up pieces of shard glass. At first, I'm puzzled because I can't figure out where the glass came from, but then I see the frame. It's the same picture I caught her staring at the morning we arrived home from the hospital.

Having heard me come up the stairs, she looks in my direction giving me sidewards glance before resuming her task.

"Scully, we're both exhausted, this can wait."

When she doesn't stop, I sigh and squat down beside her.

We work together in silence until our hands meet over the last piece of glass. Brushing her hand aside, I collect the last bit and place it in the wastebasket.

"When did you have this made?” she asks me quietly.

I'm not really sure how to respond. I want to tell her how much I've missed her, and how heavily her absence has weighed on me, but I'm not sure if that is something that she is ready to hear.

"After," I say.

I won't elaborate, because I don't want it to come across as an accusation.

Yes. Scully left, but not for the typical reasons people leave. Our separation was not based on anger, finances, infidelity, or incompatibility. Any or all of the above would have been easier to accept. To love someone more than you crave your next breath only to realize that you are their daily reminder of all that they have lost is not a conundrum I wish on anyone.

"It's a good picture. I remember taking it," she says breaking our silence.

"There's another copy around here somewhere. Although, at this point, it might take hours to find."

The house is absolutely trashed. Downstairs took the brunt of physical damage but upstairs isn't much better. Every drawer has been emptied. Dozens of books removed from various shelving units have been flipped through and carelessly thrown into the floor. Every mattress stripped, flipped, and cut open. It's going to take more than a trip to IKEA to put this Humpty Dumpty back together again.

"I don't think I can deal with this tonight," she says as she waves her hand in a circular motion that encompasses the totality of destruction that surrounds us.

"This," I say, repeating her hand gesture, "is going to take days to sort out."

She takes a deep breath as we stand.

"Let's just go back to D.C. With any luck, the beds therehaven't been slashed yet."

She's referring to her home in Bethesda, Maryland, and it's not a bad idea. Without doing some major cleaning, it would be nearly impossible to comfortably sleep here tonight. And even if the cleanup were to be more simplistic, I'm not sure that staying here tonight would be wise given the state of the exterior doors.

"We'll need to do a sweep," I tell her.

"I know," she says as she turns to gather a few of her things out of the bathroom before heading downstairs.

She waits for me in the car as I rummage around the house gathering clothes and turning off lights. As I exit the house, I can hear her SUV running. She's sitting in the passenger seat looking at something her phone.

"If my security system can be trusted, nobody has been in or out in the last 48 hours other than me," she says as I adjust the seat and mirrors to accommodate my height.

I've never driven her SUV. Usually, we would just take my car, but it's probably best that her SUV is the one parked outside of her home. She's driven very little since her wreck early last week and is still on light duty until cleared by her doctor. At least she's supposed to be.

"In the last 48 hours? Is there something I should know Scully?” I ask, teasing her.

She gives me a pointed glance, raising her brow.

"If you must know, I have a cleaning lady that comes every other Tuesday."

"A cleaning lady?"

"Yes, Mulder. A cleaning lady."

I can't help it, I laugh.

"What exactly does this woman clean Scully?"

Having lived with her off and on for over a decade, I can attest to the fact that Scully is a certified clean freak.

"I hate dusting."

"So you pay someone to come in and dust?"

"Yes, among other things."

I make a face of mock horror.

"Shut up Mulder."

 

* * *

 

**"Why is your house so much nicer than mine?"**

I ask the same question every time I come over, but she never answers me. The tone I take is playful, but on some level, I am curious. The decor and overall feel of her home are vastly different from any place she has ever lived before. If I didn't know with absolute certainty that she lived here, I wouldn't actually believe that she did.

"Why don't you start in the living room? I'll take the back," she says.

The scanning hardware we snagged from cyber has been useful for this purpose on more than one occasion. Given our history, we both have a healthy sense of paranoia when it comes to privacy and security.

Her place is a little smaller and far less cluttered than the house, so the search doesn't take as long. We scan each room looking for hidden cameras and microphones but find nothing.

When scanning the living room, I couldn't help but notice the fine layer of dust lining the top shelves of her cabinetry.

"Scully!?"

"Yeah," she replies as she makes her way down the hallway to join me in the living room.

"You need to fire your cleaning lady."

I turn to find her flopping down onto the sofa chair behind me.

"Either that or you are in desperate need of new filters," I say as I show off the dust I've collected on the tips of my fingers.

"The cleaning lady is an old friend of my mother's who needed work, and my filters are fine."

"Ah, well, I guess that solves that mystery then," I say as to join her.

"What mystery?"

"The mystery of why you would hire someone to clean a house that is already immaculately clean. The poor woman probably doesn't know what to do with herself when she comes over here."

"I think she drinks a lot of tea. The kettle is always empty on the days that she comes."

There is just enough playfulness in her voice that I can't quite tell if she's serious or just messing with me. I suspect that it might be a bit of both.

As I remove my shoes and settle into the chair next to her, she draws up her knees and shifts her weight to place her head against my shoulder. For a few moments, we sit in silence. Both of us too comfortable and too exhausted to move. I'm starting to drift off to sleep when she speaks again.

"How much time do you think we have Mulder?"

"Until what?"

"Until it starts."

"Well, considering the fact that it was supposed to start on December 22 of 2012, I would say that we've been living on borrowed time for quite some time now."

"What are we going to do?"

I'm quiet for a moment before I respond.

"Live our lives. Continue our work."

She sits up, shifting her position to face me.

"What about ... "

"Looking for William is what they want us to do Scully. I want to see him again just as badly as you do, but we are being maneuvered — Again."

"Mulder …"

"What you said at the hospital … The thing about The Smoking Man not being able to act without William. I think you might be right."

Silence fills the room as we gaze into each other's eyes.

"So we just live?"

"Yeah," I say with my face inches from hers.

I wait for her to pull back or turn her head, but she doesn't.

Just as my lips reach hers the phone in my pocket comes to life.

The reverberating sound of static startles us both, causing us to jump apart.

**"… MULDER … THEY KNOW THAT WE KNOW … DESTROY THE BACKUP — Mulder, I'm afraid … Mulder —"**

I get the phone out of my pocket just in time to see Langly's face before he is snatched away. As he disappears, another face comes into focus. The face of the curly haired assassin. He swirls his finger in mock silence for a moment before he too dissolves.

My heart hurts for Langly, but I can't follow him into modernized evolution. If the opportunity presents itself, I will destroy the simulation, but I can't continue to chase monsters with butterfly nets. My job now is to protect Scully and our son for as long as I can.


	3. Knock Three Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infamous missing scene from 11x03 - Plus One. Warning: This chapter does contain explicit material.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes lines taken directly from X Files episodes S11e3 (Plus One), S5e19 (Folie a Deux), and S7e2 (The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati). No copyright infringement intended. All duplication is strictly for the purpose of remaining canon with the X-Files mythology and overall storyline. Direct quotes can be found in bold. Credit: X-Files writers and FOX.

**SCULLY**

I wake with a start covered in sweat.

My heart is racing, and my throat is dry.

Startled, I quickly scan my surroundings to reassure myself that the room is void of shadowy figures. Tugging at the sheets, I throw them off of my heated body and close my eyes in an attempt to slow my breathing. I've had nightmares before, but up until recently, they were quite rare. The seizures I experienced earlier this month have apparently opened Pandora's box because the things I see now are foreign and unimaginable. Once I'm awake, the details fade, but the residual feeling of helplessness and sorrow in combination with an overwhelming sense of terror is difficult to shake.

The clock by the bed reads 2:24 A.M.

Sighing, I roll over onto my back and look up at the ceiling. I've seen my fair share of weird, creepy, and terrifying things over the years, but working this case in combination with everything else that is swirling around me has put me on edge.

I toss and turn for nearly an hour before giving up. Grabbing one of the complimentary waters out of the refrigerator, I sit on the edge of the bed and contemplate going out to get coffee and breakfast, but given the time, it's doubtful that there is anything open that's worth eating. The town we are in actually sleeps, unlike D.C.

The door to the adjoining room where Mulder is staying is not fully closed, which is odd because I'm reasonably certain it was closed when I went to sleep. The light flickering through the outline of the door suggests that the TV is on, but it must be on mute because the room silent. It's not unusual for him to fall asleep with it on, but occasionally he will use it for ambient lighting while he's working. Curious, I peek in to see if he's still awake.

He's not.

He's laying on his side with his back to me and doesn't stir when I enter the room.

I know I should leave, but instead, I stand and watch him sleep.

It's a familiar sight. One I've indulged in on countless occasions throughout the years. Mulder and I share a bond that defies tradition to the point of being indescribable. The intensity of that bond has always terrified me just as much as it has excited me.

As I watch the rise and fall of his chest, the memories of waking up in his arms and of his hands touching every square inch of my body reverberate in the recesses of my mind. The mere thought puts my body on notice, painfully reminding me that we haven't shared that level of intimacy in quite some time. Usually, I'm good at compartmentalizing and rationalizing, but tonight my body aches to be loved and appreciated.

We've been dancing around whatever still lies between us for close to a year now, ordering greasy takeout food, drinking beer, and watching old movies that we've seen numerous times before. It's silly really that two people so intimately familiar with one another would find it necessary to return to the basics, but returning to the foundation of our friendship has grounded us and given us a rhythm. In the years we've spent apart, I missed our friendship just as much as I missed our intimacy.

 **"Speak of the Devil,"**  he says, breaking me out of my trance.

His voice is low and laced with the remnants of sleep, but his eyes hold a hint of playfulness. The smirk tugging at his lips tells me that he knows exactly how long I've been standing here.

Having been caught, I make a decision. This limbo needs to end.

I've always failed miserably at initiating the conversations that actually matter, but my visions, nightmares, and nearly being murdered in my hospital room have reminded me that life is too short to allow for insanity. Historically, Mulder has always been the one to initiate conversations of the heart. When it comes to words, he's always been the brave one. Now it's my turn to lead because what has been broken between us is not his to fix. Not this time.

**"I can't sleep, Mulder."**

**"What's wrong?"**

**"Something about this case is getting under my skin."**

**"We've had stranger cases, Scully,"**  he says pointedly.

Mulder is a lot of things, but a fool is not one of them. Doppelgängers are not what brought me to his bed in the middle of the night, and he knows it.

 **"Can you hold me?"**  I ask him.

The insecurity I hear in my voice causes me to inwardly cringe, but Mulder doesn't hesitate. Without a moment's pause, he lifts the sheets in silent invitation.

 **"Yeah. I can do that,"**  he says as I crawl into the bed and settle into his embrace.

With his arms and body now wrapped snuggly against my own, I struggle to organize my thoughts. There are so many things I want to tell him. Things that he deserves to hear. But I also have a lot of questions. Questions that I don't necessarily have the right to ask.

He's been well within his rights to move on with his life. Just because I haven't been able to doesn't mean that he has faced the same fate. The very thought of him with someone else is enough to make my stomach turn, but he deserves to be happy, and the decisions I've made have certainly robbed him of the lifetime of happiness that he so greatly deserved.

What he has to say may not be something that I want to hear, but I have to know. There are too many unknowns in our lives right now for this remain one of them.

 **"What's going to happen?"**  I ask him.

**"What's going to happen when?"**

**"When we get old?"**

**"What do you mean when?"**

I can't help but snort at his humor.  _Touché, Mulder. Touché._

Since I can't see his face, it's difficult to tell if he's unclear of my meaning or just ignoring the question, so I press on, this time being a bit more direct.

**"I mean … sooner or later we are going to retire … are we going to spend time together?"**

**"I'll come push your wheelchair with my wheelchair."**

While I appreciate the fact that he's trying to lighten the mood and relieve some of the tension I know he must feel coiled up in my body, I'm finally ready to talk, and he's not making it easy.

**"That's not what I mean."**

**"Oh, I'll always be around Scully offering bulletproof theories of genius that you fail to assail with your inadequate rationality."**

It's an answer, but it's not the definitive answer I'm looking for, so I keep pressing.

**"And I'll always be around to prove you wrong. Promise … but no, but that is not what I mean either."**

**"Then what do you mean?"**

He's going to make me spell it out, so I do.

**"What if you meet someone … what if you meet someone younger … who wants to have kids?"**

To this, he pauses, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

 **"Oh, that's what you mean … well … you could do the same … you could meet someone … and have kids,"**  he says quietly, putting the same question back on me.

**"Mulder, that's not going to happen."**

**"That's nonsense."**

**"No, it's not. I'm … I'm at the end of that journey."**

**"Do you want to have more kids?"**

**"Well … I would have to liked to have had another one,"**  I tell him.

We never exactly tried to prevent having another one. In all the years we spent together, we never used any form of contraception, not even after William.

**"At the risk of sounding insensitive, what's stopping you?"**

**"Besides the fact that the first one was a miracle? And besides the fact that I don't have anyone to have one with even if I could."**

If it weren't for my intimate knowledge of his body, I probably would have missed the slight wave of tension that passed through him after the words left my mouth. I don't say it to hurt him. I say it because I have no right to ask that of him. Not after I left him alone to fight the ghosts of our past all on his own. And having a child with anyone other than him has never even been a consideration.

 **"You're a woman of science,"**  he says softly.

His silent question doesn't escape me. If I had truly wanted another child, there were numerous processes I could have undergone with or without him to have accomplished that goal, so why hadn't I done so?

There was a period of time after his name was cleared that I considered asking him if we could try again. But after everything that happened with William, the thought of trying in vitro again terrified me, and with our history, adoption would have been out of the question.

The topic we are encroaching on is painful. Sixteen years later, we are both still paying the price for my decision to put William up for adoption. I did it to protect him, but I also did it without Mulder's consent. I gave his son away to strangers while he was running for his life, robbing us both of the opportunity to be the parents we so deeply desired to be.

In an attempt to distance ourselves from the discussion of children we will never have, we spend the next few minutes talking about our jobs, the current president, and what we will do when the FBI is no longer there to pay the bills.

 **"What if we lose our jobs?"**  I ask him.

"Yeah, then what will we do?"

I roll to face him so that I can look into his eyes.

**"We'll think of something."**

He smiles, bringing his hand up to tuck a piece of stray hair behind my ear. The room is dark, but I can see the desire in his eyes. He wants me just as badly as I want him, but he's waiting for me to make the first move.

I know there is so much more that needs to be said, but right now I have no interest in talking.

Not giving myself time to assess the potential consequences of moving forward without conversation, I close the short distance between us, kissing him lightly on the lips as I run my fingers through his hair. His response is immediate and fervent. Pulling my body more firmly against his own, he opens his mouth to deepen the kiss as his hands drop to lightly caresses my ass and thighs, giving them each a gentle squeeze to encourage me to straddle him more fully.

Light, teasing laughter escapes my lips, when my thigh comes into contact with a familiar bulge.

"Did you really think you could kiss me like that and not get a response?" he asks in a husky voice that is heavy with desire.

"No," I whisper, gently running my fingers across his cheek and kissing him again.

The gentle, sensual nature of our first kiss is gone. It's been far too long for either of us to continue taking this slowly.

As our tongues engage in a duel for dominance, our hands busy themselves with the task of ridding the other of their clothing. We twist, turn and touch until all that remains between us are the boxers he's wearing. Snaking my hand down between us, I grasp the length of him inside of his boxers, eliciting a groan from him that sends an electrical current through my body.

After a few strokes, his hand leaves my breast long enough to stop my caress.

"Not yet," he says as he brings my hand up to rest on his chest, kissing me deeply as he flips me over onto my back.

The feel of his hands and mouth on me is exquisite.

I was by no means a virgin when I met Mulder, but nobody else has ever touched me as he does. He runs his fingers across my skin as if he's reading braille and memorizing every word.

Breaking our kiss, he begins to work his way down, starting with the sides of my neck and shoulders before moving down to my breasts where he begins to lick, nibble, and suck in a way that is reflective of his intimate knowledge of my body. With his mouth now preoccupied, his hands are free to roam the expanse of my lower body where he cups my sex and opens me to his probing fingers.

 _"God, Scully,"_  he moans as he discovers how soaking wet I am.

It's been so long, and I'm so wound up that I have to force myself to relax when his fingers enter me. With practiced precision he moves in and out, stretching and hitting me in all the right places. He's avoiding my clit on purpose, and it's driving me insane. His ability to finger fuck me with the same rhythm and intensity as he assaults the rest of my body beats any sex toy on the market, and I'm ashamed to say that I've tried quite a few over the course of the last three to five years. None of them hold a candle to what he is doing to me now, and he's just getting started.

I'm about to start begging for release when he relents and rubs the lubricated pad of this thumb across my clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to send me spiraling over the edge. He keeps his hands and mouth in place as I ride out my orgasm to extend my pleasure, only letting up when I grip his hair and cover his hand with my own.

Raising his head and body, he returns his lips to mine, using his thigh to spread my legs more fully, settling between them and running his hands down the sides of my body as he kisses me deeply. Anticipating his penetration, I tilt my pelvis and pull at his boxers, grabbing his ass to encourage him. But instead of moving to join his body with mine, he slides down to where his head and shoulders are level with my pelvis, bringing my legs over his shoulders and settling his face between my thighs.

Even if I wanted to stop him, I wouldn't be capable of verbalizing it at this point. The mere sight of his head in my most intimate space is nearly enough to send me over the edge a second time. Not wanting it to end before it even begins, I find a focal point on the ceiling and place my hands over my breasts in an attempt to calm my breathing as his tongue swirls over my center and licks me clean.

This time he doesn't tease. The attention he's giving my clit now is so intense that it's almost painful.

"Mulder … please …. it's … it's too much," I say as I lightly squeeze the sides of his head with my thighs and reach down to grip his hair with my hands.

Easing up on the pressure he is pulsing through my clit, he shifts his position and begins to thrust his tongue into my depths brushing lightly over my clit with his nose. As I get closer to the edge, he releases his grip on my hips, allowing me to thrust into his face and guide his head with my hands to direct him exactly where I want him.

The visuals in combination with the sensations he's creating are so erotic that I nearly black out from pleasure. I'm not sure what all I've said, but I'm familiar enough with the tingling sensation in the back of my throat to know that I have not been a silent partner.

When I open my eyes, he's kicking off his boxers and moving to lay beside me.

At this point, he's so heavily aroused that I know he has to be uncomfortable. But instead of mounting me and taking what is rightfully his, he plays with my hair and runs his hand along the swell of my breasts as he waits for me to settle.

"You're still  **my 1 in 5 billion** ," he says as he looks into my eyes. "Nothing will ever change that."

Of all things I expected him to say, this is not one of them. I make no attempt to stop the tears as they roll down my cheeks, but he does — both of us remaining silent for a moment as we gaze into each other's eyes.

"You do realize that the population of the world is now closer to 8 billion right?" I ask him in an attempt to lighten the intensity of the moment and to keep myself from crying more than what I already am.

"Then I guess you still have some convincing to do to thwart off the remaining 3 billion," he whispers into my ear as he moves to drape his body over mine.

"Should I be worried?" I ask, spreading my legs to accommodate him.

"No," he says as he rubs his erection across my sex, lubricating himself with my fluids. "It's no contest."

His wandering hands find my breasts as his mouth teases the erogenous zones of my neck.

"Do you want to be on top Scully?"

He knows that even with the extensive foreplay, it will still take me a minute to adjust to him after all of this time. As bad as he wants to take me, he doesn't want to hurt me. It's sweet but unnecessary. The two orgasms he just gave me have left me more than limber enough for him to have his way with me.

"No."

Guiding him into my entrance, I wrap my legs around his waist.

"I want it just like this."

After years of getting off alone, I yearn to feel the weight of his body on top of mine.

I kiss him passionately, reveling in the taste of myself on his lips as he begins to ease his way inside of me. He gets about three-fourths of the way when he breaks our kiss and moans.

" _Fuck_ , Scully. You're so tight. I don't want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable, but I can't go slow. It's been too long for me to go slow."

"Then don't," I say as I kiss him again.

Tightening my legs around him and bringing my hands down to cup his ass, I encourage him to go deeper.

" _Fuck_  … this isn't going to last long."

I relax my legs and pelvis when he bottoms out within me, giving him complete control of my lower body as he thrusts into me. Knowing him as intimately as I do, I know he's still holding back, resisting the urge to fuck me like he really wants to. Shifting the position of my legs along his waist, I grasp his hands with my own and place them under the bend of my knees to encourage him to press my legs up along the sides of his chest and deepen his penetration.

"Stop holding back," I whisper, nipping at his neck as I perform kegels and increase the friction between our sexes.

" _Fuck_ , Scully!"

"Yes ... that's the idea."

And that's all it takes. With his balls slapping against the base of my ass and the tip of his pulsing dick knocking on my cervix, he fucks me with everything he has. I know he's close when his breath hitches and his thrusts become more erratic and less controlled. Using every bit of strength I have left, I bear down on him and continue to rotate my hips in order to extend and intensify his orgasm as he releases himself deep inside of me.

For a few moments, neither of us are able to speak. Our sweaty bodies are still so intimately intertwined that it's difficult to breathe, but I make no attempt to move. The sensation of his dick softening inside of me fills me with a sense of peace and contentment that I haven't felt in quite some time. Without breaking the intimacy of our contact, Mulder carefully rolls us, shifting the weight of his body off of mine so that I can breathe more easily.

"God Scully … That was …"

"Yes … Yes, it was," I say as I playfully run my fingers across his damp chest.

His soft laughter fills the room, breaking the solemnity of the moment.

"What?"

"It shouldn't count."

Confused, I raise my head to look up into his eyes.

"You didn't knock three times."

Laughing, I place my head back onto his chest and relax.

"The door wasn't closed."

"Hmm …"

He's quiet for a moment before he speaks again.

"Is everything … okay, Scully?"

"Oh yes. All is quite well in my world at the moment."

He chuckles quietly, running his fingers across my back in light feathered circles.

"What are you thinking then?" he asks.

I'm not surprised by his ability to feel the depth of my thoughts as they course through my body. Mulder has always been perceptive, but hearing the apprehension in his voice breaks my heart, further solidifying the fact that I have a great deal to make up to him. The tone he is taking now is the tone of a man who fears that he will wake up to a closed door and an empty bed.

"That you are my 1 in 8 billion."

My voice is laced with sleep and satisfaction, but my tone is serious.

I can't see his face, but I know he's smiling.

He runs his fingers through my hair and replies —  **"and you are mine."**

In the days and weeks to come, there will be much more to discuss in order to mend the broken fences that lie between us, but until then, he deserves to know the truth. There will never be anyone else. Only him.

No more closed doors.

No more empty beds.


	4. ATTHST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 11x03 Plus One - What happens after Scully opens the door.
> 
> This chapter does contain explicit material.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All duplication is strictly for the purpose of remaining canon with the X-Files mythology and overall storyline. Direct quotes can be found in bold. Credit: X-Files writers and FOX.

** MULDER **

"The door was closed this time."

Arching her brow, she moves to close the door, but before she can, I grab the front of her blazer and pull her body flush against mine, silencing her startled gasp of surprise with my mouth. The kiss is slow and sensual at first, but as our hands begin to take familiar paths, it intensifies to point where it starts to divert my blood flow. There is no denying the fact that I want her, but I won't press her. Not after this morning. Breaking the kiss, I look into her eyes and caress her cheek.

"So what are we doing here Scully?" I ask as I run my hands along her sides to rest on her hips. "Getting some shut-eye or did you open the door because you had something different in mind?"

Her eyes search mine, trying to gauge my mood and read my intent, but I keep my face passive, doing my best to give nothing away. If she wants to sleep, then we will sleep, but given her more than reciprocal response to the kiss I just laid on her, I seriously doubt that sleep is what she has in mind.

"Well … Check out is at noon, and our flight leaves at two, so we have almost two hours … "

"I'm up to date on our travel itinerary Scully," I say pointedly. "That's not what I'm asking." There is a hint of playfulness to my tone, but my underlying question is serious.

Taking a minute to consider my question, she slowly lifts her lips to mine and kisses me softly before replying.

"The bed in here is better. That sofa bed was awful."

"Was it now?" I ask, feigning offense.

"I wasn't talking about that Mulder … I was …"

"Whichever bed you prefer is fine by me, but since when do we need a bed?"

Her brow raises at my insinuation.

"So what exactly are you proposing that we do with all of this time if we aren't going to be using a bed, Agent Mulder?"

Removing my hands from her hips, I take a step back, giving her a once-over before looking back up into her eyes. The playfulness I find there excites me, but I'm still hesitant to take the lead. I certainly don't want her to think that what happened earlier this morning was just about sex. I want sex. God do I want sex. To have her again after all of this time has awakened a primal urge inside of me. An urge to mark her in every way humanly possible so that there will be no mistaking that she is mine. But when I look at Scully, I don't just see a stunningly beautiful woman. I see my best friend and the mother of my child. As badly as I want her, I can't afford to fuck this up. Not again. So instead of pulling at her clothes and walking her back towards the bed, I move past her and take a seat in the chair next to her bed.

"That's entirely up to you Agent Scully. What we are doing is far less significant to me than just being together. As long as I'm with you, I'm quite content to doing anything. Even sleeping, if that's actually what you want."

The look that crosses her face is so filled with emotion that for a moment I worry that she might cry, but the soft smile that tugs at her lips quickly settles me. If there are tears to follow, they will be happy ones. She removes her blazer and takes a peek at the clock as she settles herself onto the edge of the bed in front of me to remove her heels and jewelry.

"Well," she says, standing to her feet, "I see no reason that we can't get a bit more comfortable. It won't take us over an hour to pack, and at my current level of sleep deprivation, I think a power nap would just piss me off."

The entire time she's talking, she's making quick work of her clothes. Keeping her eyes fixed on mine, she unbuttons her slacks, shimming them down and stepping out of them as they drop to the floor. Unable to hold her gaze any longer my eyes wander down the expanse of her petite frame as she begins to unbutton her shirt, revealing a black lace bra and what I suspect is a matching thong. Neither of which leave anything to the imagination.

As she saunters towards me, I move to stand, but she stops me, using the tips of fingers to hold me in place as she straddles my lap.

"I thought you said that we didn't need the bed," she whispers, playfully kissing my lips as she runs her hands across my chest.

Slipping my hands underneath the tail of her unbuttoned blouse, I confirm my earlier suspicion when my hands come into contact with the bare skin of her ass. Her fingers make quick work of my shirt and pants as she continues her welcomed assault on my mouth. When her tiny hand wraps around me and pulls the length of my rock hard arousal out of the confines of my boxers, I break our kiss with a groan. The smile that adorns her face is one of a woman who knows exactly what she's doing and exactly the effect it has on me. Settling her body more tightly against my own, she rubs the tip of my aching need against her scantily covered center, allowing me to feel exactly how wet she is.

"Jesus Christ Scully, are you trying to kill me?"

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Fuck no."

Laughing, she removes her lips from the side of my neck and looks deeply into my eyes. I've subdued my hands to allow her to take the lead, squeezing her ass to encourage rather than guide her movements, but Scully has other plans. Placing her hand over mine, she guides me to her lace covered center.

"Then stop wasting time and push this to the side."

Earlier this morning I took her, now she's going to take me.

Lifting her body slightly off of mine to give my fingers better access, she places her hands on my shoulders as I move the fabric to the side and coat my fingers with her arousal. Unable to resist, I run my fingers up and down her slit, flowering her open to my touch. My thumb immediately finds her clit as I sink my fingers into her.

"As good as you are at that," she says as she gasps and grinds into my hand, "we don't have time for that."

Removing my fingers from her depths, I coat my throbbing dick with her slick arousal and place myself at her entrance. She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me deeply, using the weight of her body to force my length deep inside of her. Returning my hands to her ass, I pull her more tightly against me to increase the friction between our sexes as she gyrates her hips.

Her assault on my mouth matches the intensity of her grind south of the border. The way she tightens down on me as she rises up, only to relax and pound back down onto me is driving me insane. I want to please her, but at this rate, I may not last long enough to do so. Raising my hands to grasp her waist, I slow her movements slightly and break our kiss.

"We don't have to be in that big of a hurry," I whisper into her ear as my hands encourage a less aggressive rhythm.

Submitting to my request, she slows the motion of her hips to match the pace set by my hands.

As I watch her ride me and can't fathom how she could possibly think that I would ever be remotely interested in anyone else. Even if I could never have her again, nobody else would ever suffice, because even during our darkest hours, I've always been too consumed with her for there to ever be room for anyone else.

Unable to remain passive any longer, I begin to explore the exposed skin of her stomach and low back.

The vision of Scully riding me partially clothed is erotically sensual, but it's not enough. I want to see her. All of her.

Raising my hands to flutter over her lace covered breasts, I pull at her blouse removing one arm and then the other as my mouth explores the expanse of her shoulders and neck. With her blouse now discarded on the floor, I look up to watch her face as my fingers undo the clasp of her bra.

"As beautiful as you look in this, we don't need it," I say as pull the straps from her shoulders and toss the bra to the side, freeing her breasts to bounce between us.

She moans when my lips return to her neck, and my hands raise to caress her breasts. Tossing her head back and arching her back to give me better access, she grabs ahold of my shoulders for leverage. Her nails are digging into my skin and marking me, but I barely notice. The feel of her grinding, squeezing, and sliding with me so deeply embedded inside of her is exquisitely erotic. She's the other half of me. A perfect fit. I will never be able to get enough of her. That much has never changed.

I keep my touch soft and tender at first, but as the minutes pass my grip becomes more firm and my teasing lips transition into opened mouth nips that make her jerk and moan my name. The more I caress and taste her skin the faster she moves her hips. I can tell by the rate of her breathing and by the way she is grinding against me that she is chasing release and not far from catching it.

"Mulder I want you to come with me."

"Next time … "

"Next time? Mul — "

Not giving her time to object any further, I move one of my hands down to where we are joined and begin to stroke her with my thumb, using my index, and middle fingers provide additional friction as I thrust into her.

"Oh my God … Mulder … I'm going to …"

And she does.

Together we ride out her orgasm until her small frame goes limp on top of mine.

"Mulder, you didn't …."

"Because I'm not finished."

In one swift motion, I pull out of her and rise to carry her towards the bed.

"You said this bed was softer," I say simply as I lower her to sit on the edge of the bed.

Her skin is pink with arousal, and her neck and shoulders are covered with marks that I pray fade away before she looks into the mirror.

"You're a bit overdressed Agent Mulder," she whispers as she moves to lay down in the center of the bed.

I waste no time removing the clothing that remains. As I step out of my shoes and socks, my barefoot settles on the wet crotch of my pants and boxers. I didn't think it was possible to become harder than what I already am, but looking down at the evidence of our first encounter on the front of my slacks unleashes something primitive inside of me. An urge to have her in every way possible. When I look up, what I see does nothing damper the fire burning inside of me.

Scully is laying in the center of the bed with her legs spread shamelessly. Her playful eyes taunt me as she brings one hand up to cover her breast and rests the other over her sex, parting her lips with her fingers and opening herself wide for my viewing pleasure.

"I thought you said we didn't have time for that?"

"We still have 52 minutes."

"Are you timing me, Scully?" I ask playfully.

"Maybe."

"Well, if that's the case …."

Laughter fills the air as I grab her ankles and pull her down to the edge of the bed. Watching her little fingers move through her slick, wet folds and the feel of her on the bottom of my foot has filled me with a longing that can only be quenched by tasting her.

Although we have plenty of time, I'm too wound up to tease her and waste no time licking her clean. With her hands in my hair and thighs rubbing along the sides of my face I continue to touch and kiss her. When her legs start to tremble, and her breathing starts to come in short bursts, I hold her pelvis down forcefully, squeezing her ass and sucking on her clit in a way that I know will send her immediately over the edge. I'm not wrong. Within seconds she's screaming and arching her back off the bed.

I can't help but beam with pride at her current state. She's splayed in the center of the bed. Her fair skin blushed from exertion and pleasure, and her breasts rapidly rising and falling as she works to compose herself.

Noting the look in my eyes and the state of my arousal, she spreads her legs wide and readily accepts my weight as I settle on top of her and probe her entrance. I keep the majority of my weight on my forearms as I enter her.

"Open your eyes, Scully. Watch."

The little display she put on earlier thwarted any chance of me taking her slowly. I increase the velocity of my thrusts nearly coming all the way out of her before plunging back in, but this time Scully is not passive. With every thrust, she bears down on me, digging her heels into my ass as she bears down on me to increase the friction between our sexes as I slide in and out of her. Earlier, on the sofa bed, she relaxed and let me have my way with her, but now, she's fucking me every bit as much as I'm fucking her.

"Touch yourself, Scully. I want you to come again."

"I don't know that I can."

"Oh, you can."

The mere sight of her touching herself is enough to make me come, but that in combination with her breasts bouncing against my bare chest and the feel of her slick, velvety walls tightening around me is going to make me explode.

"I hope you're close because I'm about to explode."

"Harder," is all she can manage as she pants in my ear.

Shifting my weight, I lower my hand down to her thigh and pull her knee up towards my chest to change the angulation of her pelvis and deepen my penetration.

"FUCK … yes, Mulder … right there … don't … Ah … don't stop."

I'm so close that I no longer feel like I'm in control, but based the way she's grinding into me and clawing at my back I don't think that she is either.

"Now Scully," I tell her as I begin to thrash into her with wanton need. I've held out as long as can and am about to curse her name when I feel her walls clamp down on me.

As I empty myself into her depths, I can feel her body milking mine, sucking up every last drop of my release.

If I were 20 years younger, the sensation of that alone would have instantly made me hard again, but at the age of 57, my refractory period is a bit longer than it used to be.

As I fight to catch my breath, I look down into her eyes and smile.

"I told you could ... and I think you're right Scully," I say as I brush my lips over hers, "this bed is better."

Her soft laughter is silenced when I place my lips over hers.

Seeking more intimate contact, she tightens her legs around my waist to secure our connection. We remain like this for a few minutes, exploring each other's mouths and touching each other in places that make the other gasp.

I could lay like this for hours, but we do have to be mindful of the time, or we will have some explaining to do concerning a late checkout fee. Caressing her legs, I encourage her to relax them long enough for me to pull out of her, but slow my motion when she furrows her brow.

"No, it's okay, I'm just … I was already sore from before," she admits shyly.

Holding my weight off of her, I kiss her lightly on the lips and then the tip of her nose before completely pulling out of her and rolling us to where she is laying along my side. We are both silent for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow, but soon she shifts to check the clock on the nightstand.

"We have about 30 minutes until checkout. Are you packed?"

"No, but I also don't have to fold things into perfect squares, so it won't take me 30 minutes."

She pinches me on my side hard enough to make the jump before she pulls her body off of mine and moves to get out of the bed.

"Well, after that I don't think I will be able to explain a late checkout fee with a straight face and a neutral skin tone, so we better get moving."

Not bothering to dress, she walks around the room and gathers her clothing from the floor, folding each item neatly before placing them into the top of her suitcase.

"Enjoying the show?" she asks quietly.

Her back is to me, but she undoubtedly feels my eyes on her.

"You're beautiful Scully."

"You're just saying that to get in my pants."

"You're not wearing any pants … or panties for that matter."

"Hmm …" she says as the turns to face me.

Propping my head up on my hand I shrug my shoulders, making no attempt to hide the smug smile on my face as I run my eyes up and down the length of her naked body.

"Well, you should finish packing, I'll be in the shower … so **if you need anything, just call me** ," she says mocking the line I used to bait her earlier.

 **"I can't imagine that I will,"** I say, returning her less than enthusiastic response.

"Suit yourself, " she says as she disappears into the bathroom.

I've never packed a bag so quickly in my entire life.

 

* * *

 

Having gotten very little sleep over the course of the past 72 hours, we converse very little on the flight home. Once we reached altitude, Scully was out like a light, and I wasn't far behind her, only coming to when the captain announced that baggage claim may be delayed due to some minor technicalities on the ground. The collective groan on the plane causes me to look over at Scully and smile. Having spent a good portion of our lives on the road, we have both mastered the art of packing light. I can't remember the last time I checked a bag.

We move through security and locate my bureau issued SUV with practiced ease.

It's not until we get settled into the car that I begin to feel a little uneasy. I want to ask Scully to come back to the house with me, but I also don't want to push my luck. I suspect she will want some time to herself, but I don't want to just automatically make that assumption and hurt her by dropping her off to spend the night alone either. We've reached a point on the interstate, where I'm going to have ask or just make a choice and hope for the best. I suspect that she's letting me squirm for her own enjoyment since she's made no comment on the matter.

"Uh … Scully, do you want to come back to the house or do you want me to drop you off at your place in Bethesda? I just … I need to know which exit to take."

Her SUV is in the parking garage at the justice building, but I don't offer that as an option. If I'm not spending the night with her, I want to have an excuse to pick her up in the morning. I'm still not comfortable leaving her alone after everything that has happened. I've always respected her independence, but there are still far too many unknowns concerning the mechanism that triggered her seizures. Scully has been adamant that she is fine, but I can't shake the feeling that something much larger and more sinister is at play.

"Bethesda if you don't mind. I've got a couple of things I need to take care of."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No, not really. I haven't been there very much over the past few weeks, so I need to check the mail and pay some bills. After that, I'm calling it an early night. The nap on the plane helped a little, but I'm still spent."

Her word choice is not lost on me, but I refrain from commenting.

"Do you want to stop and get something to eat, so that you don't have to cook anything?

"That's thoughtful, but no, unlike some people I actually have food in my refrigerator."

"I'll have you know that I have a fully stocked pantry."

I don't have to look at her to know that she's rolling her eyes.

"I would hardly call Pop-Tarts, peanut butter, cereal, and canned soup stocked Mulder."

"Those are staples, Scully."

She chuckles and shakes her head as I make the turn into her subdivision.

No matter how many times I come here, I'm still taken back. It's so different from anywhere that she has ever lived before. It took me longer than it should have to realize what should have been obvious. The home she chose wasn't unlike her; it was unlike me. This is what Scully would have been surrounded by from the beginning had she have never met me. This place — it's her without me.

It's in moments like these that I question everything. I want her so desperately, but I can't squash the feeling that all I have ever done is hurt her and hold her back. If it weren't for her being assigned to me, she would be living in a house twice the size of this one with a husband and slew of kids that …

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?" she asks as I pull into her driveway.

"Yeah, Scully, I'm fine … I just … I know you probably want some space, but I … I just … I'm still not comfortable leaving you alone."

"Mulder …"

"This has nothing to do with early this morning or … later this morning… Not really … It's just … We still don't know exactly what triggered your seizures, and even you admit that there is no guarantee that they won't return. The idea that something could happen to you, medically or otherwise when I'm not around scares the hell out of me."

"Mulder …"

"I don't want to smother you Scully or for you to feel like I'm using the events of the past month to push you in a direction that you aren't willing or ready to go, but I don't trust these people. I know that you think that The Smoking Man won't harm you, and maybe you're right … but what if you're wrong? And what about Y and Price and whoever it is that they are working for? The Company? They let us walk away because they thought we would be maneuverable, but what happens when they realize that we aren't following suit?"

"Are you done?"

"Yes … no … not really … Scully …"

"Because if you're done, I would like to tell you what the options are for dinner."

Her face is passive, but her eyes are full of laughter.

"Going home after dinner will be your choice, but I never said that you couldn't stay."

She unbuckles her seatbelt with a knowing smile and exits the car leaving me to grab our bags and lock up the car with my mouth hanging half open.

When I enter the foyer with our bags, she's flipping through her mail in the kitchen.

"Do you want me to move the car to the back?"

I could honestly give a shit less if the entire country knew that we were back to sharing a bed, but our work is complicated, and I don't ever want to place her a position where her professionalism or integrity is questioned as a result of her involvement with me.

"I had a child with you and fell off the face of the earth with you for nearly two years following your escape from a maximum security government facility. If they haven't put the pieces together by now, then I'm afraid that the FBI is in a hell of a lot more trouble than we are giving them credit for."

"That might actually be the sexiest, seriously intended statement that I've ever heard you make Scully. So much so, that I'm tempted to ask you a series of questions that your doppelgänger could not possibly know the answer too."

The look she gives me causes me to put my hands up in surrender.

"I'm not complaining … this just … it's not what I expected."

Scully has always been the one to set the rules. From day one, I yielded to her comfort and moved at her pace even when it drove me absolutely insane. It was at her insistence that we kept our relationship private. If it weren't for the danger associated with our work, I would have likely pressed her for more, but in the end, it didn't matter. They knew everything anyway.

"Mulder," she says with a sigh. "There are a lot of things that we need to talk about. The decisions we've made … the things we've said … they aren't just going to go away. You and I both know that … but tonight … tonight can we just eat dinner and go to bed with the faith that we will have tomorrow and all the days that follow to figure the rest out?"

"Yeah … I think I can do that."

She gives me a brief nod and a tired smile before walking across the kitchen and opening the fridge.

"So …. the options for dinner are salad and salad."

"Scully … you said there would be options."

"Well, do you want spinach or lettuce? Chicken or shrimp? Guacamole ranch or strawberry vinaigrette?"

"We really need to work on your definition of options."

"If you don't like the options you know where the takeout menus are," she says over her shoulder as she digs out various bags of suction sealed vegetables and fruits.

"Chicken and guacamole ranch it is then, but next time you go the store, I'd like to go with you in order to expand our options."

**"Sure. Fine. Whatever."**

Her back is to me, but I can tell that she is smiling.

I'm not sure what our future holds, but I do know one thing with absolute certainty. I will live anywhere and do anything so long as I can be with her whether we are in a modern, high-end house in the city or in an unremarkable fixer-upper in the middle of nowhere no longer matters to me because the walls that surround me aren't my home. She is.


	5. How Time Disappears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens following 11x04 - The Lost Art of Forehead Sweat. This chapter does contain some explicit material.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I want to remember how it was … I want to remember how it all was.” - Scully_

**SCULLY**

The past few days have been strange. Having spent a good portion of the last decade fighting to escape the darkness that once consumed us, one would expect to find a trip down memory lane to be a form of regression, but instead, it has settled us. Reggie's sudden and nonsensical appearance has served as a reminder that our journey into the darkness also included spectrums of light.

"I was wrong you know," I say, breaking our silence.

"Wrong about what?"

"About time … About how it can't just disappear."

We share a knowing smile and a light chuckle.

"It's unnerving, isn't it? I mean, case and point," he says as he looks around the room and moves his hand in a circular motion. "Here we are, surrounded by X-Files with a bigfoot layered Jell-O impression as a midnight snack. It's as if no time has passed at all."

I can't help but laugh because it's true. With all the things that have changed over the years, our niche for the strange and unnatural has remained untouched by time. I start to make a witty reply but am stopped short by the change in his expression. The playfulness that was there just moments ago has faded. His mind and body are shifting gears in preparation of a more serious discussion, one I think he has been waiting for the right moment to broach.

"Every morning when I look in the mirror I can't help but notice that time has passed, but then I look at you and it's as if no time has passed at all."

My breath catches in my throat in fear that he's about to make a grand gesture that I'm not yet ready to reciprocate. We've had several meaningful discussions over the course of the past two weeks. One of which resulted in us reconnecting on an intimately primitive level, but it's going to take more than a few rounds mind-blowing sex to mend what has been broken between us. The nature of our relationship has always been magnetic — binding us with unrelenting force while inversely serving to keep us desperately apart.

I don't want to discourage whatever advance he's about to make, but at the same time, I'm not yet ready to take that leap into the abyss with him again. Before I can formulate a response that will serve as a balance between the two he's speaking again.

"I've spent a good portion of the past decade looking back … hating myself for all the things that I can't change, but mixed in with all that regret, I find that there is also light. As much as I hate what has been done to us and mourn for everything we've lost … I'd do it all over again. Not because I don't have regrets, but because I've decided that I can live with the rest so long as the end result is this very moment — me sitting beside you."

The gentle sincerity I find in his eyes in combination with his soft, nervous smile is impossible to not reciprocate. I told him years ago that I wouldn't change a day, and I meant it. The list of regrets we share are infinite, but each and every one of them has led to this very moment. Fighting back the tears forming in my eyes, I break the moment to look down at the ridiculously large Jell-O foot sitting in front of us. The absurdity of it brings a smile to my face that helps to settle me.

"Oh I don't know Mulder, I'm not sure that forty-year-old Jell-O and the company you keep are worth reliving …"

The list of things that were to follow is immediately forgotten as soon as his lips touch mine. He's gentle and loving, lightly caressing my cheek with his thumb as he dips his tongue into my mouth. I wait for him to draw me closer and pull me into his lap, but he doesn't. Instead, he withdraws, smiling at my dazed expression and open mouth.

"Definitely worth it."

He gets it. He always has. The fact that he isn't pressing me makes me love him even more. While I might not yet be ready to reciprocate with words and commitments, my body is more than willing to show him exactly how much his words have moved me.

"It's late Mulder, let's take this upstairs."

"Okay," he says, kissing the tip of my nose and then my forehead. Standing, he takes my hand and pulls me up from the couch to stand in front of him.

"Why don't you head on up and let me deal with bigfoot. It would be a shame to let forty-year-old Jell-O go to waste."

Before he can remove his hand from mine, I pull him against me and kiss him lightly on the lips.

"Don't piddle," I whisper, with our mouths mere centimeters apart.

He smiles and gives me a slight nod before gathering the dishes and retreating into the kitchen.

Upstairs, I pilfer through drawers and cabinets looking for bath salts. There was no reason for him to keep them after all of this time, but I suspect he has and I'm not wrong. Below the bathroom sink, I find two separate containers of salt. One containing jasmine and the other lavender, both of which are half empty. I don't recall how full they were when I left, but the fact that they aren't pushed to the back or covered with dust makes me wonder if he has used them in my absence.

I settle on jasmine, sprinkling it into the base of the tub as I turn on the water.

The free-standing claw foot tub was surprise birthday gift several years after we moved in. The original tub had been outdated and small — even for me. Mulder will swear up and down that he's not a man of romantic gestures, but that isn't true. While he may not be one to wine and dine, he's always been thoughtful.

I'm so lost in thought that he startles me when he places his hands on my hips. When our eyes meet in the mirror, his expression is apologetic, but I shake my head and give him a gentle smile to dismiss the sentiment.

"I see you found the bath salts … although, if you don't turn on some cold water, you might scald," he says, tilting his head towards the tub.

Giving him a knowing smirk, I remove myself from his grasp to adjust the temperature.

"I'll leave you to it," he says softly.

"Mulder …"

He stops, turning to face me right as he reaches the door.

The man I knew before would have started removing my clothes the moment he entered the bathroom, but our time apart has left him hesitant and timid. We've spoken very little of the intimacy we have shared over the course of the last two weeks, which is more my fault than his. To his credit, Mulder has been openly affectionate. His words downstairs, just one example of many.

I've just always been better at show than tell.

"Join me?"

Closing the door he approaches me with reverence, holding my gaze as he reaches to run his hands down my arms.

"Always."

When I reach down to pull at the hem of my shirt his hands move to settle over mine.

"Allow me."

Raising my arms, I allow him to remove my shirt and toss it to the side. From there, his hands track down to rest on my hips, running his fingers lightly over the fabric of my pants until he finds the zipper on the side, but not once during this process do his eyes stray from mine. Without saying a word, he's making his point clear. It's not just sex he wants.

While I appreciate the sentiment, that's never been my concern. From the very first time he touched me, I knew that the intimacy we shared was beyond anything else I had ever experienced.

It's never just been sex.

My pants hit the floor first, followed by my panties, and then my bra.

A younger version of myself would have been unnerved standing in front of a man completely nude with him being completely clothed, but this isn't any man. Mulder has been my lover for nearly two decades, and my best friend for longer than that. I trust him implicitly.

"You're overdressed," I say as my hands move to undo his belt.

Our eyes remain locked as I return the favor.

Once fully bared to the other, he takes my hand and guides me, shutting off the water and offering his support as we both step into the tub. Taking a seat, he draws me into his lap and wraps his arms around me as we lounge back into the warm water.

"What are you thinking?" I ask him after a few moments of silence.

"Do you remember the first time we shared a bath?"

I chuckle and mold myself more intimately against him.

"Vividly."

Physical intimacy has never been a source of contention between the two of us. Our bodies have always been effective in communicating when our words have been inadequate.

"I also distinctly remember a certain someone not sticking around the clean up the huge mess we made."

"You would remember that above all else."

I can't stop the laughter or subsequent hum of satisfaction that leaves my lips as his hands begin to caress my stomach and thighs.

"But that didn't stop you from inviting me to join you again," he whispers playfully in my ear as his hands rise to brush against the swell of my breasts.

"Fortunately for you, your magic hands have always superseded your ability housekeep."

"Just my hands," he asks with a mocked insult as he presses his growing arousal into my back.

"Now you're just fishing for compliments."

"That's not the only thing I'm fishing for," he says playfully tickling my sides causing me to jump and slosh water out of the tub."

My laughter quickly turns into a gasp when he uses the flightiness of my movement to shift his legs in between mine and trap them against the sides of the tub. As the water stills, he brings his hands up to fondle my breasts as he kisses the side of my face and whispers into my ear.

"What I said earlier about time is true. You're just as beautiful as the first day I laid eyes on you."

"Mulder …"

"Shhh … Just listen … What you said back at the hotel … Scully, there will never be anybody else. You're it. You've always been it. My 1 in 8 billion," he says as his hand drops to caress my hypersensitive center.

"Yes …"

All other words and thoughts fade away as his fingers dip inside of me, touching me in all the right places. With his thumb circling my clit and his other hand fondling my breast, I can't stop my hips from grinding against his now full erection and probing fingers. Water is sloshing out of the tub and getting all over the floor, but I don't care.

"You're making a mess," he says in a voice laced with a mixture of humor and arousal as he continues his welcomed assault on my body.

"Worth it."

 

* * *

 

To his credit, Mulder cleaned up the bathroom — for which he was greatly rewarded.

As satisfying as our bath had been, it hadn't been enough. After cleaning the bathroom, he joined me in bed and fucked me senseless. If there is anything positive to be said for years of separation, it's that our bodies have had plenty of time to bottle unbridled passion.

I should be exhausted, but I'm not. Our earlier conversation in combination with intense physical intimacy we just shared has sparked something within me. A yearning to discuss what has previously been left unspoken and to keep the promise I silently made to both him and myself.

No more closed doors.

No more empty beds.

There have been several times over the course of the last two weeks that he has looked at me as if he was on the verge of asking or telling me something but stopped short of speaking the words. I know that he wants me to come home, but there are things that need to be said and settled before we make that jump again. We won't cover them all overnight, but we have to start somewhere. For years I blamed him, but Mulder's obsessions weren't the only culprit to our demise. I see that more clearly now than ever.

As much as I dread having the conversations we need to have, I also know that I cannot continue to avoid them. If there is anything that the past twenty-five years have taught me, it's that silence is damning and unforgiving. As easy as it would be to settle deeper into his embrace and go sleep, I know I can't, not if I want to break the cycle.

Taking a deep breath, I start with the white elephant in the room that slowly chiseled away at us until neither recognized the other — regret.

"Mulder?"

If I were less familiar with his body, I would have assumed that he was already asleep based on his quiet, even breathing, but I know better.

"Hmmm?"

"What is your deepest regret?"

"Glad to see that we're keeping the pillow talk light tonight," he says with a chuckle.

"You don't have to answer, I was just curious," I reply with a little more bite than I actually intend. When I feel his body tense, I immediately feel guilty for snapping at him.

"I'm sorry, that came out more curt and defensive than I intended ... I just … I promised that we would talk. I'm trying Mulder."

Wrapping his arms more tightly around me, he kisses my tousled damp hair and then my shoulder.

"There are many, but most of them stem around the same central theme: I let them win."

"Mulder …"

"No. You asked, so let me finish."

He's quiet for a moment, musing over his thoughts before he speaks them aloud.

"You would think that an Oxford-trained psychologist would have seen it," he says with a huff. "I was convinced that quitting would equal defeat when the opposite was true. They used us, Scully … maneuvered us. And they were able to do so because I was too blinded by love and ambition to see what was right in front of me. I gave them exactly what they wanted. Had I have recognized their game for what it was, neither one of us would have been abducted, Melissa would still be alive, and we would be raising our son … maybe even more than one."

Unwrapping myself from his embrace, I turn to face him.

"Had we have quit early enough to have thwarted my abduction, we would have never shared a bed. You may not remember, Mulder, but you weren't as charming back then as you are now. In fact, you were kind of an asshole."

To this, he laughs, but his smile and light laughter sober quickly as he runs his fingers through my hair.

"I know you've said before that you wouldn't change a day, but is that still true? With everything that has happened and all that you've lost?"

"Chasing monsters in the dark has come at a cost for both of us Mulder. Not just me. You have to stop blaming yourself. Everything that has happened … I was there too. I'm just as culpable as you are. I was free to walk away, but I chose to stay."

"You stayed because of me, and it cost you everything."

"No … not everything," I tell him, raising my hand to caress the side of his face. "I still wouldn't change a day Mulder, not because I don't have regrets or because I'm okay with what has been taken from us, but because changing our journey would mean changing us, and of all the regrets I have, this," I say, pressing my body against his, "has never been one of them."

"Scully …"

Taking a page out of his playbook, I cut him off with a kiss, dipping my tongue into his mouth and kissing him passionately. After a few moments, I break the kiss and place my fingers gently over his lips to keep him from speaking.

"They may have claimed a few battles Mulder, but they haven't won the war," I say softly. "They set out to destroy us … to tear us apart, but here we are twenty-five years later … sharing a bath and a bed in a home that we built together. We may not have our son, but they don't have him either. They haven't won. Not yet. Don't concede a war that has yet to be fought with regret that isn't deserved."

He says nothing for a moment as he runs his fingers lightly down my spine and looks deeply into my eyes. The emotion I find flickering in his hazel depths stirs my blood and warms my heart. Stilling his hands, he draws me closer and captures my lips. This time, we go slow. Exploring each other's mouths and bodies with care and tenderness. He touches me as if I'm made of glass, running his fingers along the expanse of my body with feather-light touches that send chills down my spine. Rolling me onto my back and spreading my legs with his thighs, he shows me again that time can indeed disappear.


	6. Don't Kiss Him Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing / Alternate Scenes from 11x06 - Ghouli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from Joy to the World by Three Dog Night can be found in bold and are used in direct reference to X Files episode 5x04 - Detour. No copyright infringement intended. All duplication is strictly for the purpose of remaining canon with the X-Files mythology and overall storyline.

**MULDER**

> **_Jeremiah was a bullfrog_ **
> 
> **_Was a good friend of mine_ **
> 
> **_I never understood a single word he said_ **
> 
> **_But I helped him a-drink his wine_ **
> 
> **_And he always had some mighty fine wine_ **
> 
> **_Singin'_ **

_She's a vision._

_I've always thought she was beautiful, but now, as I watch her rock and sing to our son as he feeds from her breast, she takes my breath away. She's no Whitney Houston or Mariah Carey, but William doesn't care. Reaching up to grasp her finger with his tiny little fist, he unlatches from her breast and smiles as she brings her face closer to his and continues to sing._

> **_'Joy to the world_ **
> 
> **_All the boys and girls now_ **
> 
> **_Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea_ **
> 
> **_Joy to you and me …'_ **

_Bringing him up more closely to her chest she repositions him and pats him on the back as she continues to rock him, reducing her tune to a light hum as she lulls him to sleep. I reposition myself in the doorway with the intention of entering but quickly halt my movement when she kisses his fine strawberry blonde hair and begins to speak._

_"One day you're going to want the truth, and I hope that on that day you'll find an answer that will satisfy you."_

_Suddenly, it dawns on me why she hasn't turned to acknowledge my presence._

_This memory … it's not my own._

_It can't be._

_I speak, but my voice is not heard._

_"I love you so much and so does your father," she tells him. "He's not here because he can't be — it's too dangerous, but never, even for a second, think that he didn't want to be here with you … that he didn't love you … that he didn't love me."_

_I reach out to stop the tears that line her cheeks, but as my hand reaches her face, it passes right through her as if she's a ghost, leaving me to helplessly watch as she begins the process of saying goodbye to our son._

_"I only hope that one day you will be able to forgive me for the decisions I've made … I need you to know that I made them to ensure that those who have harmed us will never be able to do the same to you."_

_She gives him one final lingering kiss on the back of his head before placing him in his crib._

_Everything inside of me screams. If she could hear me, I would plead with her to wait … to not kiss him goodbye._

_She watches him sleep and caresses his little face with the side of her hand as tears stream down the sides of her face._

_Clearing her throat and wiping away her tears, she whispers to him as he sleeps. "Of all things that I'll ever accomplish … being your mom will always be the greatest one."_

_He sleeps peacefully, unmoved by her words and oblivious to the fact that all of our lives are about to change forever._

_It's not until she turns and walks right through me that I realize that it is me who's the ghost._

**—**

Obnoxious ringing breaks through the fog, rousing and orienting me to my surroundings.

I reach for Scully wondering why she hasn't silenced the alarm, but all I find are cool sheets and a screaming clock. Stretching across the bed, I silence the alarm and then bury my face into the empty space beside me. The spot she occupied still smells like her — or more accurately, like us.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I take a deep breath in an attempt to settle myself. The awareness that it was only a dream slows my pulse rate, but the emptiness I feel in the pit of my stomach lingers.

I don't have to get up and search the house to know that she's gone. Although we've come a long way over the course of the past two months, she's still reluctant to bring clothes with her when she stays, opting instead to leave in the wee hours of the morning so that she can shower and dress at her home in Bethesda before coming into work. Her leaving so early, especially when she doesn't wake me, drives me insane, but I've remained silent because I don't want to press her or demand more of her than what she is willing to give. She's already given me far more than I ever deserved.

The vividness of the dream in combination with her absence dampens my mood and slows my movement.

It's been a long time since I've had a dream about William … long enough to have forgotten how deeply depressing and painful they could be.

Scully and I have spoken very little of him since her hospitalization. Although we scan both houses regularly, we can never be entirely sure that we aren't being monitored, and after what we experienced following his birth, we aren't taking any chances.

The full scope of the technology that our enemies possess is still mostly unknown. The idea that Scully's chip or that any one of our electronic devices could be transmitting information to a secondary source makes my skin crawl, but it's not something we can afford to dismiss as junk science — not anymore.

Should  _the company_  indeed possess mind-copying technology, our silence may very well be in vain, but by way of silent agreement, we've steered clear of any in-depth conversations regarding her visions, the syndicate, and what little we know of what became of our son. If there is any solace to be found — it's that. If these monsters do possess mind-copying technology, the knowledge we possess won't bring them any closer to finding him. To this day, I still have no clue how the gunman accomplished it, but on paper, William doesn't exist.

I know this because when I was at my lowest point, I spent months going through birth certificates and adoption records … even those that were sealed. I found nothing. On paper, William Benjamin Scully was never born. Nor is there any form of documentation, medical or otherwise, indicating that Dana Katherine Scully ever carried a child to term.

When the alarm goes off a second time, I relent, rolling to sit on the edge of the bed and shutting it off completely.

Remnants of the pleasure we shared the night before line the sheets and specific areas of my anatomy. Usually the visual of that alone would serve to arouse me, but her soft-spoken pleas to William weigh too heavily on my mind to elicit a response. Was what I saw real? Or was it merely a manifestation of my grief and guilt for not being there to protect them and for leaving Scully alone to make the most difficult decision of her life?

Stripping the bed, I load the sheets into the washer and go through the motions of preparing for the day, trying desperately to distract myself away from the vision of Scully's final moments alone with our son.

I don't find her note until I'm ready to walk out the door.

> _I had a strange dream and couldn't go back to sleep. You were sleeping so deeply and peacefully that I didn't have the heart wake you. I'll pick up our favorites for breakfast. See you at the office. XO, S_

My heart drops at the mention of a dream.

Had she dreamed of William too?

If so, what would it mean and why didn't she wake me?

It still takes every ounce of energy that I possess not to lose my shit every time she leaves my line of sight in light of all the unknowns swirling around us. Her insistence on leaving to get ready elsewhere has driven me insane from the very first time she did it nineteen years ago, but now it scares the hell out of me.

Scully has extensive training in hand to hand combat and is an excellent marksman, all of which should put my mind at ease. But it doesn't. Not even close. Those who pursue us don't have the typical weaknesses of the human flesh, and the idea that any one of them could come for her at any given time terrifies me. While my being there might not save either of us, we would certainly have greater odds fighting together than alone.

With super soldiers and syndicate assassins in mind, I pocket my keys and her note and walk with purpose into the downstairs guest bedroom.

Before their deaths, the gunman crafted ammunition infused with magnetite for Scully to load into her backup sidearm. In all the years we worked together, Scully only carried one weapon, but after my abduction, she started carrying two.

Opening the safe hidden securely under the floor, I squat down to take stock and switch out my clips. I don't see the second note until I reach to grab another box of ammunition.

> _I've got the SR9c. It's loaded, as are the guns in Bethesda. XO, S_

he fact that she is no longer referring to her residence on the outskirts of D.C. as  _home_  is not lost on me, but it's also not what immediately grabs my attention. I don't have to pull the note of my pocket to know that the paper, ink, and overlaying indentions on the paper in my hand will be a perfect match to the one in my pocket.

Scully was in the safe this morning, after waking from a dream that stole her sleep.

I finish loading my spare magazines and holster my gun quickly, desperately trying to damper the panic rising up inside of me.

 

* * *

 

"I was just about to call you. I heard that the traffic on …" she stops short when she notes the expression on my face. "What's wrong?"

"We need to talk about this morning."

Creasing her brow, she questions me with her eyes as she makes her way around our shared desk to stand directly in front of me.

"Mulder," she says with a hint of exasperation. "I'm sorry that I left without waking you, but …"

"No … although, yes, next time I would like for you to wake me up, but that's not what I'm upset about."

"Then …"

"You were in the safe this morning after having a  _strange_  dream. I'm sure that you can appreciate how troubling that discovery was for me first thing in the morning. I know we're careful, but if you've seen something … anything … I would hope that you wouldn't leave without waking me."

She's silent as her mind works to put the pieces together when the realization hits her, her expression transitions from one of annoyance to one of understanding.

"It wasn't that kind of dream Mulder … it was just like I said —  _strange_ ," she says brushing by me to reach for the paper sack on the corner of our desk.

"Strange enough for you grab a spare sidearm that you haven't carried in over a year along with extra ammunition?" I ask, challenging the passiveness I hear in her voice.

I'm trying desperately to keep the frustration and furry out of my voice because the last thing I want to do is argue with her. But if we are going to win the war she speaks of, we are going to have to fight together, and we can't do that if she is keeping secrets and taking off by herself in middle of the night.

She takes a weighted breath and gazes deeply into my eyes, silently warning me that I'm over-reacting and to knock it off before she actually gets pissed.

Our ability to read between the lines and assess the other in silent conversation is uncanny. It's one of the many aspects of our relationship that I've always treasured.

"It wasn't a nightmare Mulder," she says finally. "I would have woken you if that had been the case," she says with sincerity.

"Then why the —"

She silences me by handing me a coffee and breakfast burrito.

"Have a seat and eat your breakfast and then I'll tell you about my dream."

Moving to the other side of the desk, I do as she requests, taking a sip of my coffee and unwrapping the burrito.

"Well?" I ask.

Arching her brow, she digs in the sack for what I assume will be a wheat bagel and light creme cheese.

I'm not wrong.

"Well, as I stated earlier, it was  _strange_. I woke up in a strange room and a strange bed. I could feel someone standing behind me, but when I tried to turn my head, I couldn't move, at least not initially."

"Sleep paralysis?"

"Hypnagogia, to be more medically precise, but yes, there was some sort of unnatural force holding me in place. I felt like I was being weighted or held down by something, but nothing was touching me. There was an initial jolt of fear associated with my inability to move, but once the force holding me down relented, it dissipated."

She pauses for a moment as she spreads creme cheese over her bagel.

"When I turned to face him, he fled. I couldn't make out anything about his features aside from the fact that he was young … likely in his teens or early twenties. The house was large and appeared to be pretty high end, but after I entered the living area, I never saw him again. I could hear him moving throughout the house … but no matter what door I took to follow him, I always ended back up in the same room."

I nod, watching her as she takes a drink of her coffee and a bite out of her bagel.

"In the end, there was a snow globe with a ship inside of it. I don't remember it being there initially, but the flakes were still moving as if someone had just shaken it. After that, I woke up. Nothing was threatening about it. It was just strange. I don't know what it means or if it means anything at all."

"Yet you left with an extra gun and ammunition in the middle of the night without waking me?"

She gives me another look. She doesn't roll her eyes, but I can tell that she wants to. Either way, it's a look laced with warning. Sighing, she rewraps the untouched half of her bagel and places it back into the bag.

"I couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow related to the others. That perhaps it was —"

"William," I say quietly because that is what this is really about. I sensed it from the moment I read her note, and I can see it written all over her face now.

She nods, shifting uncomfortably and looking down at her feet.

"It occurred to me as I was getting dressed and looking for my keys that we've done very little in preparation in that regard. We've just been … living. Not that I have any complaints," she says with a smirk. "But should it end up meaning something, I didn't want to be unprepared. While we may have an idea of what is coming, we don't know when … or who. This dream was just different from the others I've had. I didn't wake up sobbing or with my heart feeling like it was going to beat of my chest, and it didn't appear to be futuristic. It was more like a message. I'm not sure what he was trying to tell me, but … I just … it was strange enough that I wanted to be prepared. I didn't leave the note to upset you. I honestly thought that when you found it that it would comfort you to know that I had them."

As she mentions the note, I can see the question forming in her eyes.

"Why were you in the safe this morning?"

"I was in the safe because I had a dream too, and when I saw your note, I feared the worst."

Of all the things she expected me to say, this was apparently not one of them.

"Oh," she says quietly.

"But my dream wasn't like yours … it was a memory … from … before."

"Before?"

"Yeah. Our family … before."

I won't elaborate because I don't want to have this discussion here. The room falls silent as our eyes exchange a knowing sentiment of sorrow and regret.

"Next time I'll wake you," she says softly.

Clearing her throat, she moves to sit on the edge of the desk and starts to say something else when there is a knock at the door.

"Good morning!"

It's one of the aids from upstairs. A cheery, cheerleader type, I think her name is Jennifer, but they come and go so quickly in the bullpen that I've long stopped paying attention.

"Agent Kiplinger asked me to bring this downstairs. He said it was more your speed than his," she says with a playful smile, rudely bypassing Scully's extended hand and handing the file directly to me.

The fact that our department is still the running joke of the agency is annoyingly comforting.

"Thanks," I say, accepting the file from her hand. "Send my regards to Kiplinger. And Jennifer … next time you bring a file down that is flagged with a blue tab; you might try handing it to the medical doctor. I'm more of a green tab kind of guy."

The shade of her face quickly transitions from pale to pink.

"My name is Stacy," she with more than a hint of annoyance, "and I will let Agent Kiplinger know that in the future, case files with blue tabs are to be directly addressed to Agent Scully."

"Thank you, Susan."

For this, I'm rewarded with a scowl and a slight huff as she exits our office. Her angry heels can be heard clicking all the way to the elevator.

"You do remember that aliens are grey and not green right?"

"Shhhhh … you can't challenge the tab system Scully. If you do, they will fire us both — again."

Her light laughter and genuine smile relieve the tension that has been coiled inside of me all morning.

"I'm going to go to the restroom, and then I guess we'll take a look at that," she says eyeing the file in my hand.

I nod, taking a moment to appreciate the sway of her hips as she turns to walk out of the office before opening the file to see what Kiplinger has deemed as  _being more my speed than his_.

The first picture I see sends a cold chill down my spine.

"Scully …"

"Yeah," she says peaking her head back in the door.

"The ship in the snow globe … did it have a name?"

The look on her face as I hand her the file confirms what I already know. The ship in this file is ship from her dream.


	7. The Boy They Called Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scenes following Jackson’s disappearance from the hospital in 11x05 Ghouli

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes lines and paraphrasing of lines taken directly from X Files episodes 01x21 (Tooms), 04x14 (Memento Mori), 10x01 (My Struggle I), and 10x04 (Home Again). No copyright infringement intended. All duplication is strictly for the purpose of remaining canon with the X-Files mythology and overall storyline. Direct quotes can be found in bold. Quotes paraphrased, while not bolded will be quite obvious and easily recognizable to anyone who has watched the series. Credit: X-Files writers and FOX.

**SCULLY**

We've been sitting in a small, isolated waiting area just down the hall from the crime scene for well over an hour. The DoD took over the crime scene immediately following the shooting, relieving both Mulder and me of our weapons, phones, and badges. So far we've been told very little other than the fact that we are not here to perform at any level of investigatory capacity. While I wasn't entirely surprised that they confiscated our weapons, I'm still not sure what to make of them taking our phones and badges. Unable to call Skinner, we've had little to do other than to wait.

Initially, I feared that they had been successful in capturing William, but after observing the officers around us interact and speak in hushed tones for the past hour, I now highly doubt that's true.

Of all the things currently unclear, the one thing that is clear is that the DoD knows something that we don't.

"Agents Mulder and Scully?"

We both nod.

"I'm Officer McPherson with the Department of Defense, and I'm going to need to both to come with me."

Exchanging glances we follow him down a flight of stairs and through a series of hallways into what appears to be a security office. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but opening the door to find Skinner speaking to military personnel in full uniform was not one of them. The man who I immediately peg as being the one in charge is not someone that I recognize, and based on the way Mulder is assessing him, he doesn't either.

"Agents Mulder and Scully, this is Colonel Nease. He will be personally overseeing the Van De Kamp investigation moving forward. I believe you met several of his officers at the crime scene early this morning," Skinner says by way of introduction. His voice is steady, but his eyes and tone warn us to tread lightly.

Nease shakes neither of our outstretched hands and wastes no time getting directly to the point.

"Either one of you care to explain why you failed to apprehend a suspect suspected of killing three of my officers and two civilians?"

"I'm not sure what —"

"Cut the shit, Agent Scully, I've got three dead officers out there, and I don't have time for your bullshit," he says silencing me.

Nodding, he signals for one of the other officers in the room to turn on the projector on the opposing wall, directing our eyes to watch the surveillance footage leading up to and following the shooting of the two fallen DoD officers in the hallway.

Watching two officers open fire on one other for no apparent reason is troubling, but that's not what causes my stomach to drop.

Out from underneath the workstation emerges Jackson Van De Kamp. The terrified nurse Mulder and I saw is nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, the room is completely silent. If it weren't for the freeze-framed image stilled on the wall in front of me, I wouldn't believe it myself.

"Your superior seems to think that there are some extenuating circumstances at play, so instead of cuffing you first and asking questions later, I'm asking the questions first. So I'll ask again," his voice rising. "Why, with two dead Department of Defense operatives on the floor, did you not apprehend Jackson Van De Kamp?"

The silence in the room is so deafening that all that can be heard is the humming of the computers and screens around us. In the freeze frame, you can see both of our expressions clearly. Both of us looking directly at Van De Kamp and neither of us raising our weapons or making a move to stop him.

"I think it's fairly clear from our expressions and body language that we were not aware of who he was. Had we have recognized him, I can assure you that we would have pursued him."

How Mulder managed to find his voice is beyond me, because, at the moment, I'm incapable of speech.

"So you're not going to deny that you let a young male matching the general description of Van De Kamp run away without stopping him to question him or confirm his identity?"

"Clearly that is not something that either of us is in a position to deny."

I can tell by Nease's expression that he is bit surprised by Mulder's lack of defensiveness and admission of error. The look of confusion that crosses his face, however, is short-lived, giving way to annoyance and then fury.

"So tell me Agents Mulder and Scully … Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you both charged with obstructing justice," Nease says, his voice rising a decibel with each word he expels.

I should speak, but the shock of seeing my son on film has stunned me into silence, reducing me to exactly what I am at this very moment. Right now, I'm not a federal agent or a physician. I'm a mother ... a mother who has just seen her missing son alive for the first time in over 16 years.

My silence leaves Mulder to speak for both of us. His tone is level, but his voice has an edge to it that I've only heard a handful of times in all the years I've known him.

"I think you're asking the wrong questions, Colonel."

"I beg your pardon."

"How was a troubled teenage boy able to manipulate multiple licensed medical professionals into zipping him into body bag, monopolize highly trained operatives into opening fire on the other with no visible barriers or any apparent circumstances that would have impaired their judgment, and exit a hospital surrounded by armed local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies without being pursued or identified? Those, Colonel Nease, are the questions you should be asking."

The entire room is stunned into silence at Mulder's brazenness, but the Colonel's silent, seething, furry does little to deter him. Without pause, he continues to charge forward despite the rising temperature in the room.

"Because I'm willing to bet my right kidney that if you continue to roll that footage, you will find that Jackson Van De Kamp bypassed multiple law enforcement personnel on his way out the door … including your own. None of which will question him or give him a moment's pause."

Nease, at this point, has clearly had enough. Taking an aggressive step towards Mulder, he raises his arm as if he's going to poke Mulder aggressively in the center of his chest.

"I'll fucking have your —"

"You've already taken my badge, and if I'm wrong, you can keep it."

"Roll it," Skinner says, interrupting the showdown between Nease and Mulder before it escalates to the point of no return.

"Assistant Director Skinner —"

"Colonel Nease …"

Skinner's tone is respectful and calm, doing his best to deescalate the tension building between Nease and Mulder.

"I'm well aware of the fact that I am outside of the chain of command and that I have no official say in this matter, but if Agent Mulder happens to be right, that would mean that you have additional witnesses to interview. If Van De Kamp did indeed leave this hospital undetected by officers who should have recognized him, I would imagine that you would want to know why."

Taking a deep breath, Nease places his hands in his pockets as he appraises Skinner, his gaze shifting between Skinner and Mulder before coming to rest on me.

"Run the footage. Follow Van De Kamp out."

Just as Mulder predicted, Jackson easily bypasses multiple local and federal officers on his way to the north exit. None of which appear to recognize him or give him a moment's pause despite the fact that he perfectly matches the description and photographs distributed to all agencies.

"Well, I'll be damned," says the officer controlling the feed. His comment earns him a look from the Colonel that immediately silences him from making any further comment.

Nease is also silent. His confusion appears to be genuine. If he's working for those who pursue our son for his alien DNA, he's playing his cards well. The look he gives Mulder is a cross between furry, confusion, and intrigue.

"Care to share with the class Agent Mulder, since you clearly know something I do not?"

"When you interview these officers, they will all deny seeing or speaking to Van De Kamp. Should they happen to recall this precise moment," he says pointing to the frozen frame on the screen of a local law enforcement officer directing Jackson to a hospital exit. "They will describe a woman in her mid to late 20s to early 30s wearing navy scrubs."

The room falls silent.

"And you expect me to buy that? To believe that what is in full living color right in front of my eyes is not an accurate account of what these officers saw?"

"I know what I saw Colonel, and it wasn't Jackson Van De Kamp. I suspect their experience will be similar."

"And I'm to believe this over a more reasonable conclusion? One where you and Agent Scully made sure that Agent Scully's son escaped unscathed?"

Something in one of our expressions must have given him the confirmation of acknowledgment he was seeking because his rant doesn't relent.

"Oh, you thought you could run the analysis, and nobody else would notice? You are both operating so far outside of investigative ethics and jurisdiction that — "

"Colonel Nease, may I have a moment with my agents?"

Stepping out into the hallway, Mulder doesn't waste any time getting to point.

"Skinner, you know damn well what that footage means."

"Keep your voice down Mulder. And yes, I do know, but that doesn't change the fact that if we don't navigate this carefully, we're all done. I'm here to help, but my reach only extends so far. Kersh is far from amused."

"Is it even remotely possible that he is as green as he's acting? Odds are we aren't playing with a full deck, to begin with. You know this goes. You know how they operate."

"There's no way to be certain, but either way, you'll accomplish nothing by pushing this, especially if the deck is already stacked."

"He's right Mulder," I say quietly. "We can't fight from behind bars."

Before anything else can be said, the door opens.

Whatever patience the Colonel initially possessed is certainly gone now.

"Agents?"

The screens in the room are now dark, and based on the body language of the other officers in the room it's clear that we weren't the only ones discussing strategy.

Having snapped out of my earlier stupor, I make sure that I'm the first to speak.

"Colonel Nease, as a law enforcement officer and medical doctor, I too am at a loss to explain what Agent Mulder and I saw today. We never saw Jackson Van De Kamp. What we saw was a terrified female nurse, who we let go without question. As for the DNA testing … Agent Mulder and I were investigating the assault and attempted murder of two teenage girls who we learned were both associated with Van De Kamp. His potential involvement in that crime was determined during the course of our investigation and was not something we were privy to before taking the case. I ran the DNA analysis to ensure that ethical lines were not crossed, because I had reason to believe, given the information I was provided about my son's adoptive family years ago, that Van De Kamp could very well be my biological child. So before performing his autopsy, I ran the analysis to ensure that the integrity and ethics surrounding this case would be maintained, fully intending to recuse myself should my suspicions be confirmed."

It's a lie, and I suspect he knows as much, but it's reasonable enough to be dismissed as fact.

"Yet here you stand in the middle of my crime scene, well aware of who he is and his relation to you."

"With all due respect sir, if your son, who you hadn't seen in over 16 years had just risen from the dead, could you just get on a plane and go back to D.C.?"

To this Nease says nothing. Nobody in this room can explain how two paramedics, responding officers, and two M.D.s, myself included, pronounced an undead teenager dead at the scene. Or how anyone, teenager or not, could have survived a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head without medical attention, escaped the morgue, and sing-handedly eliminated the trained professionals sent to capture him.

The idea that Mulder or myself could have orchestrated such a feat to save him is equally ludicrous given the number of different agencies involved and the nature of circumstances. That, right now, is our only saving grace. Charging us with obstruction of justice would be reckless, especially given that Nease's officers made the same error we had.

Nease has clearly worked out the same algorithm in his mind and is musing carefully over his next move.

His lack of impulsiveness gives me pause. This is not a man who is merely following orders, if he were, Mulder and I would be in separate cells in the bowels of justice building or a body bag.

"I suggest that you both make yourselves easy to find, should we have any further questions," he says shifting his eyes between Mulder and me before settling them on Skinner.

"And might I suggest to you, Assistant Director Skinner, the importance of impressing the art of coloring between the lines to those under your command who have a knack for coloring outside of them."

To this Skinner only nods.

"Officer McPherson will show you out. And, Agents … If I am to see you again, it better be because I sent for you."

"You've made yourself clear," Mulder tells him.

"Stay put for the next 12 hours. After that, I would strongly suggest that you find yourselves back on a flight to D.C."

 

* * *

 

Once outside the building, McPherson reiterates the order to leave the premise immediately.

We exchange glances as we start in the general direction of our rental, silently agreeing to make the best of our walk through the mayhem. Separating only briefly, we scan the parking lot, making it a point not to do anything to draw attention to ourselves.

"Anything?" I ask him as we both approach the car.

"No. Nothing."

He pulls me into his arms and anchors me in place.

"It's late Scully," he says after a few moments. "We should head back to the hotel; there's little we can do at this point other than wait."

I nod because he's right. Even if William is still here somewhere, his ability to mask his identity will make him impossible to find, and poking around after being explicitly told to leave would not be wise. Not that it's stopped us before, but in this case, there is little to be gained by poking. We were able to get what we needed from the Van De Kamp scene before the DoD took over and have a pretty good idea of what caused the experienced operatives to turn on one another.

Sensing my unease, Mulder opens the passenger door for me as we both scan the faces of those standing around us, each of us wondering if one of them could be William.

 

* * *

 

We say very little on the short drive to the hotel. The comfortable silence we can hold between us has always been an aspect of our partnership that I have treasured. While we do have a great deal to discuss, I don't have to ask him what he is thinking. Not really. His silence is telling enough. With the DoD now aware of our connection to 'Jackson,' it's safe to assume that our every move is now being monitored. Given what we've experienced in the past and the nature of claims Price has made, it would be reckless to assume that any conversation occurring in our rental or in close proximity to our phones would be secure.

With this in mind, we make it a point leave all of our electronic devices in the car when we arrive at the hotel.

"We should change rooms," I tell him.

"Let's take a look around first; we may actually be okay with our phones in the car."

Placing his hand on the small of my back, he gently takes the key card from my hand, unlocks the door to my room, and follows me inside. Having left the adjoining door between our rooms opened, he goes into his room and rustles around in his suitcase for the portable scanning device that he now carries with him everywhere. It's not as sophisticated as the equipment we have at home, but it's better than nothing. We have both always had a healthy sense of paranoia given our history and line of work, but after the Russians, Mulder has taken it to an entirely different level. He relentlessly and continuously scans our homes, vehicles, and office for bugs. While at times it's exhausting, nerve-wracking, and downright annoying, it can also be oddly comforting.

Quickly running the wand over light fixtures, electrical outlets, and phone jacks, he gives me a nod, waving for me to hand him my gun and badge which also scan clean. While we're both fully aware that a clean scan doesn't mean we are completely in the clear, the fact that nothing appears to have been moved or gone through in our absence gives me some level of comfort. I'm meticulous in how I organize, fold, and place my things, so if someone had gone through them, I would be able to tell. Mulder, on the other hand, is not as easily convinced. Without saying a word, he opens every drawer and shines his flashlight behind every piece of furniture in my room before returning to his room to do more of the same.

Removing my coat, I sit heavily on the edge of the bed and listen to Mulder rustle around next door.

"What do you think the odds are of finding a bug with that thing if they've planted one?" I ask him.

"I don't know, but I won't be able to sleep if I don't at least try."

"We could just switch rooms."

"None of the tape I left this morning has been disturbed, so I think we are okay. What about your things?"

Tape. Of course, he left tape.

"If anything has been touched, they sent in a woman with an immaculate photographic memory and a touch of OCD, because everything is just as I left it."

It's meant to be a joke, but neither of us laughs.

"Would you like me to order us some food?" he asks, peeking his head through the door.

"If you do, only something light. I'm not that hungry. My stomach has been weird all day, and that was before all of this."

He nods silently and then disappears back into his room.

I can hear him on the phone, but don't pay much attention to what he's saying.

Opening my coat, I pull out the pictures I managed to conceal in its lining before the DoD forced us to leave the Van De Kamp scene. The DNA test confirmed William's identity but offered very little perspective. Had he been loved, cared for, and appreciated? Or had his entire childhood been troubled and disjointed by his abilities, making it impossible for him to make connections?

While I've seen the majority of the pictures already, I know there are still a few that I haven't seen.

My breath catches when I discover one of Jackson as a baby. Standing in a crib with a big smile on his face is the baby boy I remember. He's older, maybe a year or so old, but he's undoubtedly William.

When I first laid eyes on the body of Jackson Van De Kamp, I was hopeful that perhaps I was mistaken about his identity. The young man in the morgue had darker features. While it's possible that William's hair could have darkened over the years to match Mulder's, his eyes had matched mine. Jackson's, on the other hand, were a deep brown. Which makes the pictures I'm looking at now all that much more perplexing. The young boy smiling back at the camera is undoubtedly ours. His eyes, nose, and coloring are mine, but the smile and a playful gleam in his eyes is all Mulder.

Aside from being in somewhat of a chronological order, there is no apparent theme or organization to the pictures. Most are just of him, but there are few with him and his adoptive parents, and one with him and two other boys sitting on the front porch of a farmhouse with big smiles, sun-kissed cheeks, and baseball gloves. I'm struck again by how much his smile and facial expressions favor Mulder. When I flip the photograph over I find 'Jack, Ben, and Zak 2009' written in a cursive script in the bottom right-hand corner.

Seeing him happy, healthy, and loved in his early childhood fills me with a sense of relief that is immediately snatched away when my eyes settle on the next picture. It's still William, but the features that made him so undoubtedly ours are gone. He's older here, ten or eleven maybe, but his fair hair and blue eyes are gone. The child staring back at me now doesn't resemble William at all in his coloring or demeanor … the smirk on his lips more forced than genuine.

There's no date or writing on the back to indicate when it was taken, but it was clearly taken sometime after 2009. The pictures that follow do nothing to relieve the sickness in my stomach. Dark clothes. Stoic affect. All the markers associated with a troubled child. Until I get to very last two pictures.

It's the same dark-haired boy pictured before, only this time he's laughing and holding a brown puppy as it licks his face. The joy on his face is undeniable. Flipping it over I find 'Jack and Abe, July 2010' written in the same distinctive cursive I saw earlier. The final picture is of Jackson with the same dog pictured before; only they are both older. Crouched down along what appears to be the edge of a wheat field, he has his arm draped over Abe — both of them smiling. The photograph is dated September 2011.

I feel the bed dip beside me, but I don't look up.

"I ordered us some food," he says softly.

"I heard, thank you."

I'm not sure how long he's been in the room, but he's been watching me for longer than I realized because I can hear the reverence in his voice.

"Scully —"

"He has my coloring, but his facial expressions and smile are all you," I say, handing him the picture of William standing in his crib.

"He looks happy Scully."

"I think he was, at least for a while," I say as I hand him a few more pictures of William in his early childhood.

"What makes you say that? The medications you found?"

"That and this."

When I hand him the dark, stoic portrayal of our son, Mulder's expression changes just as mine did.

"Something happened to him, Mulder. Something that changed him. The boy in these photos," I say pointing to the ones that he's now set aside, "appears to have changed drastically sometime after 2009. And I'm not just referring to his appearance; his overall affect is different."

"There's no way to know Scully, not from pictures alone. He appears to be happy here," he says, taking the photo of Jackson and the puppy from my hand.

"I think that he may have left these for me find, and I think he may have picked each one of them for a reason."

"Or —"

"Or he could have selected them to put in his senior yearbook ad or any number of other things. Yes. I realize that, but Mulder … he knew we were coming. The ship in the dream is why we are here. We are here because he told me where to find him. Why would he do that unless he wanted to tell us something? Or perhaps warn us?"

"I haven't had a chance to tell you yet, but I did some digging while I was waiting on the DNA analysis to come back. Both of our names were buried in his search history. He was aware of our work with the X Files. I think that's why he created ghouli. Maybe not to meet us, but to watch us from a distance. I think it's safe to say based on the documents that we found on his computer that he was aware that he was adopted. The ability he possesses would have certainly raised more than the average number of questions concerning who his birth parents were."

Taking in his words, I know he's right. The most straightforward answer is often the right one, but I can't shake the feeling that in this case there is more to it than that.

"They were laying in a stack on his desk in plain sight. Is it really too far fetched to believe that he specifically picked these, leaving them out for us to find?"

"No. I suppose not."

I reach over him to pick up the picture of Jackson with the two other boys on the porch, handing it back to Mulder.

"It's dated 2009 on the back, after this, there aren't any more pictures of him with friends or family members. His hair and eye color changed sometime after this was taken as well."

We remain silent for a moment, each of us silently contemplating the implications.

"Mulder, we didn't dig before because we wanted to protect him, but now … we can't find him or even begin to know how to protect him if we don't know what happened to him or what he's capable of. I know we can't go back to the house or investigate his parent's death, but I can't just do nothing. Not anymore. I have to know what happened to our son."

Before he can respond there's a knock at the door.

"With any luck, that's our dinner and not Skinner, but just to be on the safe side, you might want to put those wherever you had them hidden before."

Nodding, I separate the photos and out into smaller stacks, concealing them in various places in the lining of my coat to avoid making an obvious bulge. Mulder watches me, not looking through the peephole or moving to answer the door until I've obscured all of them.

Fortunately, it is food.

There's little doubt in my mind that Skinner is off somewhere getting skewered for our handling of the Van De Kamp case. If he turns up tonight, it won't be for coffee and a bagel.

"Thanks," Mulder says as he pays the delivery man and closes the door.

"Sandwiches and soup," he says placing the paper sack on the small table by the door. "You've been switching it up on me, so I just ordered the frequent flyers."

"If there's broccoli and cheddar in that bag, it might be love."

"As fate would have it," he says with a smile.

Pulling out spoons and several cups of covered soups, he scoots the covered cup that is undoubtedly broccoli and cheddar towards me and places a spoon on top of it.

"We also have turkey and chicken salad sandwiches, both toasted on whole wheat."

"I'll start with soup," I say as I move to stand by his side, placing my hand on his bicep and raising up on my toes to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Eat whichever sandwich you want, because I'm not sure that I'll be able to eat one."

"Okay," he says, his face masked with concern. "Is your stomach still bothering you?"

"I've just been queasy. I haven't slept well the past few nights, and my nerves are shot."

He nods, not asking any further questions because he doesn't have to.

We eat in silence for a few moments before I speak again.

"How do you think he does it?"

"Changes?"

"Yeah."

"I think that what was on that surveillance footage was reality. What we saw … what the girls on the ship saw … was what he wanted us to see."

"But why? Why hide from us? There's no way that he doesn't know that we know, not after the morgue."

To this he sighs, putting down his sandwich and leaning back in his chair.

"I think it's safe to assume that he heard everything you said, but having … abilities doesn't necessarily make him immune to fear and trauma. Being someone who has a little bit of experience with coming back from the dead, I think we just need to give him some time. The family who raised him is dead, and there are soldiers hunting him. That's a lot for anyone to take on, let alone a teenager, and based on what we found at the house … it's possible that he's not all that stable, to begin with."

I cringe at the thought, but Mulder isn't wrong. Everything that we've been able to piece together so far has suggested that Jackson is a troubled delinquent.

"I just … I can't bear the fact that he's out there with nowhere to go, feeling like there is nobody he can trust. I just want to talk to him, Mulder."

He nods and is quiet for a moment before he speaks.

"The way he left his room doesn't implicate him as being the aggressor. I think he was just as surprised by what happened as we were."

"Do you think they found him by following us?" I ask.

The very thought makes me nauseous, but it's something we have to consider.

"It's possible, but it's also possible that he was already on their radar. The documents he had on his computer were redacted, but how he found out about them and gained access to them … I have no idea."

He hesitates for a moment, lowering his spoon and wiping his mouth. When he speaks again his voice is lower, and his eyes waver.

"During my darkest periods, I searched endlessly. It was foolish and selfish, but I did it anyway. In the end, I found nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'm not sure how the gunman did it, but there was absolutely no trace. So how he was able to find those documents and figure out who we were and who he really was … I have no idea because I came up with absolutely nothing. On paper, William Benjamin Scully never existed."

The admission that he searched for William even when I repeatedly and explicitly asked him not to doesn't necessarily surprise me given his state of mind at that time, but the fact that he wasn't even able to find proof that our son was even born does surprise me. The gunman and Spender had promised me that they would burry William so deep that nobody would ever be to find him, but I always just assumed that they erased all traces of his adoption. It never occurred to me that they would erase his entire existence.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to you be angry, or worse — to feel hopeless and defeated knowing that one day, whenever you were ready, that there would be nothing for you find. I just couldn't … I couldn't tell you that, not in the place that we were at. I was scared it would break you. It sure as hell broke me."

Waves of emotions wash through me as my mind begins to put the pieces together. I always assumed that Mulder's depression stemmed from the passing 2012 date and being so isolated, but perhaps that had only been the tip of the iceberg.

"Up until then, I always held onto hope that there would be a day where it would be safe," he says quietly. "Safe for us to find him and to be able to see him happy and healthy so that we could start to live again … and that maybe, after seeing him again, you could find a way to forgive me for leaving you to make the most difficult decision of your life alone."

Dropping my spoon down into my bowl, I rise from my chair and make my way over to him, straddling his lap and wrapping my arms around him. As I bury my face into his neck, I do not attempt to stop the tears that stream down my face and onto his shirt.

"I'm so sorry, Mulder … I —"

"Scully —"

"No," I say clearing my throat. "I need to say this."

He remains silent as he rubs my back and waits for me to speak. Looking up into his eyes, I tell him what I should have told him sixteen years ago.

"I've NEVER blamed you, Mulder. Not once. I've spent the past sixteen years praying that one day you'd be able to forgive ME for giving away your son and robbing you of the chance to be a father, not just to him but to any other child because you were with me."

His grip around me tightens, encouraging me to lay my head against his chest. Lowering his head, he wipes away my tears and kisses me on the cheek before speaking softly into my ear.

"The times that I've chosen them … those are the decisions that keep me up at night, but never, not once, have I regretted choosing you."

His admission does little to settle me. I feel sick.

I desperately want to tell him how sorry I am for leaving him over something that I had so profoundly misread and misunderstood, but when I try to speak my voice cracks and a sob escapes my lips.

"Shhhhh … all of that … everything that is back there was a battle Scully … it wasn't the war."

To this, I manage a light chuckle as I try to rein in my tears and settle myself.

"Liked that one didn't you?" I ask after a few moments.

"You have your moments."

I'm not looking at his face, but I can feel his soft smile against my temple.

The moment is sobered when he speaks again, this time his voice is quiet and full of emotion.

"You told me once that I'd find all the answers to my biggest mysteries and that you'd be there with me when I did." He runs his fingers through my hair as he continues to speak. "You also said that you'd never find the answers to yours, but I don't think that's true. I've always believed that the truth would save us, Scully. It may be difficult and it might not be what we imagined in our fantasies, but I still believe that it will set us free."

I'm quiet for a minute before I respond.

"Are we ready for this Mulder?"

**"I don't know there's a choice."**

I don't know how long we stayed in each other's embrace, but by the time we separated our soup was cold.


	8. Things Are About To Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder and Scully drive home post 11x05 - Ghouli

**MULDER**

The gas station surveillance footage has left us both in a state of shock.

While I had assumed that our son would surface again at some point in the near future, I never dreamed that it would be this soon, nor did I imagine it being quite like this. After what occurred at the hospital, I shouldn't be surprised, but the fact that he was right in front of me in line and I had no idea is still a bit unnerving.

We've been on the road for nearly half an hour, opting to switch out our rental and drive rather than fly back to D.C. Our time on the road has given us more privacy than a commercial flight would have afforded, and after running the scanning software all through the car and disabling both of our phones, I'm as confident as I can be that it's just her and me in the car.

 _"If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything,"_  she says quietly. "What do you think he meant by that?"

I've been asking myself the same question. Replaying his words on the tape over and over again in my mind looking for any connection that might be of value or hold duel meaning, but the conclusion I've come to is more rudimentary in nature.

"It's impossible to know for sure, but I think it was a test."

"A test?"

"You said the same man bumped into you at the hospital right?"

"Yes, right as I was leaving."

"Both times exhibiting muted elements of aggression … "

"Muted elements of aggression? Mulder what—"

"At the hospital, he bumped into you hard enough to knock the snow globe out of your hand and did so when there was nobody else around and no reasonable excuse to be that close to you. At the gas station, he approached you and asked you if you were following him. Both of these actions are prodding in nature. Someone who does something like that is looking for a reaction because neither of those behaviors is socially appropriate. Even underaged and drunk I knew better than to approach a female at a gas station and tell her that I'd like to get to know her better. It's just not something that you say to a stranger — not unless you want that interaction to be awkward as hell."

Unsure of how she will respond, I lower my voice and reach for her hand, taking it into mine before I continue.

"Scully, all he likely has are his visions — whatever those might entail — and then whatever information he has been able to scrounge up online. But as to who we really are and if we can be trusted, that's not something he can google or find buried in some redacted file. That's something he has to experience."

"And what better way to judge the character of a person than to see how they would react to an awkward stranger, especially during a time of stress and preoccupation?" she asks quietly.

I don't have to ask her what she thinks or if she agrees, because the expression I find when my eyes meet hers is one of resolution.

"As to what he meant — to return to your original question — I suppose it's possible that the Malcolm quote holds some form of duel meaning, but I think more than anything it was his conclusion. Whatever he was looking for in you, he found, because, in the end, he trusted you enough to subtly tell you that it was him, that he was okay, and that someday he hopes to have the opportunity to get to know you better."

Since my focus is divided between the road and her, I can't watch her expression as closely as I would like, but her fingers intertwining with and squeezing mine is the only cue I need.

Her first conversation with William may not have been what she dreamed of all of these years, but she has managed to find comfort in it. While I too am comforted by his interaction with her, his apparent lack of interest in me is perplexing and somewhat bothersome.

He checked out right in front of me, offering only a brief nod by way of acknowledgment. He could have just as easily spoken to me as he did to Scully, but he chose not to. Had something he read online or in the documents on his computer made him more leery of me than her? Or had their shared visions simply provided him with a level of connection that he did not yet feel with me? Or worse, does he think that I abandoned him and his mother because I didn't want him and didn't love her?

There's no way to be certain, not until we are able to speak to him directly, but I can't shake the feeling that there is something there — an element of distrust or disassociation linked to whatever half-truths he's woven from the web of complex and mostly invisible strands of conspiracy that tore our family apart.

"Do you think he's really going cross country?" Scully asks.

"It's possible. There doesn't appear to be much holding him here, aside from the girls, and now that the DoD knows who they are, and what they mean to him …"

"Yeah."

She falls quiet again, turning her eyes to the landscape along the highway.

While I can't be sure of what she's thinking, I can guess. The sheer gravity of everything we have learned in the last 48 hours is undoubtedly weighing on her just as heavily as it is on me.

Looking through William's childhood photos and watching him on film has been surreal. I had done my best to move past the gaping holes that his absence left inside of me. Not because I didn't love him or long for his presence, but because the search for him turned me into someone I didn't recognize.

My obsession to expose the truth behind the conspiracy that swallowed up my sister and destroyed my family has always been focused, bordering on insane, but losing William unhinged something in me. Something that I didn't even recognize was there until it was snatched away.

William wasn't just our son. He was a symbol.

He was HOPE.

It wasn't until we settled down and she went back to work that the depth of what had been lost truly resided within me. Being on the run was difficult, but the fact that it was so difficult made it easy to justify not having him with us. We were in a different hotel and sometimes even a different state on any given night, each time under new aliases. It was no life for a child. But then the time came where we weren't running anymore.

We built a home together and found a new rhythm. A new life — only it wasn't. In time, the emptiness of it all taunted me.

I took long jogs, refurbished floors, painted, mended fences, and redid the master bathroom to incorporate a claw foot soaker tub that I knew Scully would love, but soon the projects were complete, and there was little to do other than to obsess over what I couldn't change. It was a dark time — for both of us. Each of us silently holding onto things we couldn't let go in fear that speaking the words would only further to serve to hurt the other.

"Do you think he'll attend their funerals?" she asks, interrupting my thoughts and bringing me back to present.

"Going would be a huge risk. He has to know that."

"But do you think he will anyway?"

"As much as I'd like to say no, he did take the risk of going to the hospital. All we can do is hope that he learned from that experience."

"Should we … we didn't know them, but raising our son cost them their lives. I can't help but feel —"

"Scully, what happened … nobody is responsible for that but  _them_."

The silence that follows is heavy. The guilt she carries for giving our son up for adoption has never dissipated. If anything, it's grown with time.

As much as I want to stop, wrap my arms around her, and tell her that none of this is her fault, I know her well enough to know that it won't do any good. Not now. Not when there are so many questions left unanswered.

"I can't imagine losing my parents that early in life, and not being able to say goodbye," she says quietly.

This is something that I've given a considerable amount of thought to as well. Losing my parents as an adult was difficult enough, and I didn't have a particularly healthy relationship with either of them. William, on the other hand, despite his transgressions, appeared to have a good relationship with his parents, bringing me to my next point — one that has been troubling me ever since I first saw the footage of him at the hospital.

"I guess that's another thing," I say.

"What?"

"On the surveillance footage … his demeanor … it's not what I expected."

"What do you mean?"

"He looked … relaxed … calm … happy even. He didn't look like a frightened, troubled teenager who had just lost everything."

"Mulder it's impossible to —"

"I'm not attacking his character. I'm just making an observation. One that goes along with something else that has been bothering me. The documents on his computer. I haven't had the time to go through everything we downloaded, but the redacted documents from project crossroads … Scully, even with the arsenal the gunman left me, I still found  _absolutely nothing_. So how does a 17-year-old kid who can't even hold down a 3.0 GPA and stay out of D-hall manage to snag it?"

"Mulder what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm starting to wonder if he snagged them at all."

"You think someone gave them to him?"

"Unless he has some master level of computer sorcery we know nothing about, I think that's the most logical conclusion."

"But who —"

"Just hear me out. Up until three days ago, our assumption has always been that  _they_  couldn't find him and that them not being able to find him had something to do with the Smoking bastard's timetable falling apart … but what if we're wrong? Price has more than alluded to the fact that there is a division within the syndicate and that there has been for quite some time. If that's actually true, then I think it's reasonable to assume that there might be a force at play that would have more to gain by protecting William than by capturing him."

"By tipping him off …"

"Possibly."

"But tipping him off in and of itself wouldn't be enough Mulder, not with the forces at play."

"Unless …"

I hesitate to complete my thought, not wanting to facilitate another sleepless night.

"Unless what?"

"Unless they know something we don't."

"Like what?"

"What else he's capable of."

To this she says nothing.

"Regardless of how he came by the information … he knew better than to allow them to capture him. It wasn't enough to save his parents, but it was enough to push him to do what he needed to do to survive the aftermath. And he did … so maybe it was enough."

Just as I'm starting to wonder if she's going to respond at all, she speaks, her eyes distant and focused on the landscape alongside the highway.

"There's only one person I know of working for the other side who would have the motivation and the means to do that."

She doesn't have to say a name. The knowledge of what she has seen in her visions is enough.

It's a reasonable conclusion. One that I'm surprised I didn't think of myself.

_Monica Reyes_

How much William knows about what is to come and who is behind the curtain is unclear, but of all the riddles and mixed signals he has relayed to us in the past 48 hours, there is one thing that rings true and has been made clear.

_Things are about to change._


	9. This House Is Not My Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 11x06 - Kitten
> 
> Warning: This chapter does contain explicit material.

**MULDER**

After some finagling, Skinner managed to secure three seats on the last flight to D.C. We are all exhausted but grateful to be heading home instead of spending another night in Mud Lick. It's funny how things change with age. Staying in hotels never used to bother me. When you don't sleep, it doesn't much matter where you lay your head. Years of instability, however, have reinforced the appeal of having a home — a touchstone.

"I take it you two are …" Skinner says, interrupting my thoughts.

"We're … good," I tell him.

It's not likely the definitive answer he's looking for, but it's all I have. Scully and I are currently in a good place, but I can't say that we have reconciled, at least not entirely.

"Good. I was worried for a while. She hid it well, but she was just as miserable as you were."

"She's always been the strong one."

To this, he laughs.

"I can't argue with you there."

"She's my everything. That much has never changed," I say quietly after a few moments have passed.

He nods, both of us spotting her approaching at the same time.

"Sounds like something you should probably tell her."

"She knows," I say before she reaches earshot.

"Figured we could all use a pick-me-up. It's been a long day," she says as she hands out coffees.

"Thanks, Dana," Skinner says with an appreciative smile.

"Did you get a hold of Kersh," Scully asks.

"Yeah, we have a meeting first thing in the morning."

"That sounds … ominous," she replies.

"I may be an old dog, but I've still got a few tricks."

"Well, if there is anything we can do to help."

"You saved my life, that should do for a while," he says with a smile, eyeing his coffee appreciatively.

The rest of the conversation that ensues is lost on me. Sipping on my coffee, I quickly become entranced by Scully's aura. Even after pulling an all-nighter, she's as sharp as ever. If anything, she's glowing.

"Mulder," she says, reaching out to brush my shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, just tired. Why?"

"Our flight is boarding."

She eyes me cautiously, cueing me to the fact that this isn't the first time our boarding has been announced.

"Sorry. I'm good. Just tired," I say, squeezing her hand and reaching for our bags.

We board the plane without incident, somehow managing to all get seated together. Not that it mattered, within minutes of take-off we were all sound asleep.

 

* * *

 

By the time we land in D.C., it's nearly midnight. Scully and I offer to drive Skinner back to his apartment, but he declines, insisting that it would be easier just to take a taxi.

Having gotten a decent amount of sleep on the flight, we aren't as dead as we were when we left Mud Lick, but even so, we both agree that the hour drive out to the house is too much after the day we've had. While her having a separate residence in the city is still a bit of a sore spot, I have to admit that having a place so close to the office and airport has been nice. Until I started staying with her, I hadn't really given much thought to how draining and monotonous spending a little over two hours on the road each day could be. It's certainly been much easier and less stressful to just stay in the city on nights where we end up coming in on a late flight or get caught in the office.

When we arrive, I attend to our bags while she deals with the alarm system. I know all the codes but frequently end up setting it off somehow anyway. Her voice recognition software hates me, so setting it off never ends well. Which is why when we enter together, I always let her deal with it.

Knowing she will want a minute to go through her mail and organize herself before getting ready for bed, I go ahead and jump in the shower, setting her shower head on a setting that pounds against my aching shoulders and back. Despite how wonderful it feels, I don't linger because it's late, and she'll want to shower too — sooner rather than later.

I time it about right because when I enter the bedroom she's sitting on the edge of the bed removing her shoes and jewelry. Leaving her to shower and go through her bedtime routine, I make my way into the kitchen in search of something to eat. Between the autopsies, dealing with local authorities, and completing our field reports neither of us got a chance to eat dinner, indulging only in complementary nuts and coffee on our way back to D.C.

Since we've been gone for a couple of days and neither of us has been to the store this week, the options in the fridge are limited. Fortunately, there's enough to work with to prepare a small something for both us. I had planned to wait on her, but when I hear her hair dryer click on I decide to go ahead and eat, turning on her tea kettle so that the water will be ready in the event that she decides that she wants some tea.

"Mulder?"

"In the kitchen."

"It's late let's go to bed," she says, rounding the corner to stand behind me.

"But first a bedtime snack," I say as I place a bowl of cheerios and freshly cut strawberries on the bar.

"At one in the morning Mulder?"

Her eyes are tired but appreciative.

"You haven't eaten since we grabbed lunch in Mud Lick, and that was well over 12 hours ago."

"Keeping tabs on me Agent Mulder," she asks as she approaches me, eyeing the bowl of cereal on the bar before returning her eyes to mine and wrapping her arms around my waist.

"Always," I say, kissing her lightly on the lips.

"Your tea is on the stove. Eat, and then we'll sleep."

Running my hands down to rest on her hips briefly, I kiss her forehead and then move to retreat to the bedroom to finish getting ready for bed, but she stops me, lacing her fingers with mine.

"Stay. Sit with me."

Unable to deny her, I nod, directing her to sit on the other side the bar as I make her tea.

My eyes are immediately drawn to the clean lines and high-end accent lighting that adorns her cabinetry. Her refrigerator and walls are bare of anything remotely personal, much like the rest of the interior.

"Scully?"

"Hmm?"

Placing her tea in front of her I lean against the bar and study her for a moment, not sure if I should broach the subject or not. The combination of her shower, tea, and cereal appear to have rejuvenated her bit. She's tired but not overly tired, encouraging me to go ahead and say what's on my mind.

"What you said about Skinner's place … it's true of your's as well. No pictures or memorabilia. Nothing remotely personal … It's not like you or any place that you've ever lived before."

She assesses me thoughtfully as she finishes chewing and takes a sip of her tea.

"Lately, I haven't. Lived here that is … Not really anyways," she says with a trace of a smile. "Did you know Skinner was seeing someone?"

She's changing the subject, but there is a purpose to her voice that keeps me from calling her on it.

"No. He never said anything about it, but we haven't exactly been chatty since the incident at the hospital."

"He's a good man Mulder, and he's been a good friend to us … an ally. We need to trust him."

Something in her voice gives me pause.

"After I … left, we used to meet for coffee every couple of months."

I'm not sure where this is going, but I'm immediately unnerved. She's never mentioned this before.

"It started as a job offer. There was a teaching position open at Quantico, and my name came up. The idea of having normal hours again made the offer tempting, but, ultimately, I decided to stay at the hospital. Returning to the FBI without you … It just wasn't something I was willing or prepared to do. Too many memories."

I nod but don't speak.

"Her name was Amy. She was killed in a car accident on her way to meet a client. She was a realtor. That's why he moved … too many memories in the home they once shared."

"I had no idea, but then again, he wasn't asking me out for coffee."

I try to keep the insecurity out of my voice, but I can tell by the look on her face that I haven't done a very good job.

"It was just coffee Mulder," she says softly. "I think he was just as lonely and heartbroken as I was. He seems better now."

Moving around the bar, I take the seat next to her and watch her finish the last few bites of her cereal.

"How long ago was this," I ask, squeezing her thigh lightly before I reach across the bar for her tea. I'm generally not a tea person, but coffee at this hour would be ill-advised.

"The accident was in 2016," she says squeezing my hand as she stands. "I never got to meet her, but she sounded lovely and he seemed happy. He invited me to join them for dinner on multiple occasions, but I never took him up on the offer. My schedule at the hospital was always crazy, so there was always one excuse or another. I regretted that later — not making the time," she sighs, rinsing her bowl and placing it in the dishwasher. "But I knew he was just extending the invitation out of kindness, somehow sensing how lonely and miserable I was—"

"Scully—"

"He's a good man Mulder. I don't know why he smelled like smoke, but he's given us no reason to doubt him. Whatever is going on behind the curtain, he will have our back. He always has."

"I'm not discounting his loyalty Scully, not really. I just think that there is something he's holding back … something that he's not telling us. Maybe he thinks he's protecting us or perhaps he's been placed in a position where he has to play both sides."

"He's the Assistant Director of the FBI Mulder, playing four square in all four squares is written in his job description."

"Scully, there is no doubt in my mind that he is a good man. I meant what I said to him earlier. I'm with him … We're with him, but there's something there … Something that I'm not completely comfortable with. I don't say that to attack his character or to belittle the role he has played in our lives. I will be forever indebted to him in more ways than I could ever repay, and I am grateful that he has always been there for you when I wasn't. But that doesn't change the fact that there is only one person on the face of this planet that I trust implicitly, and she's standing right in front of me."

Moving around the bar to stand between my legs, she places her hands on my biceps. My seated position at the bar has negated our height difference, allowing for her eyes to be level with mine.

"And I'm telling you to trust him … and to trust that whatever it is … that he's going to come out swinging with us."

While she likely assumes that her body is my greatest point of weakness, that's actually not true. All the emotion and verbiage she can pack into those piercing blue eyes of hers has always stirred me far more than her curves. Although, I'm quite fond of those too.

Looking into her eyes now, there is no way I can deny her, even if I'm reluctant to have the same level of faith in Skinner as she does.

"Ok."

"It's late," she says, kissing me lightly on the lips. "I'll start the dishwasher and turn out the lights. Finish getting ready for bed, and I'll join you in a minute."

 

* * *

 

When I look up into the mirror after rinsing my face, I find her standing in the doorway behind me with a smirk playing on her lips.

Holding her gaze, I dry my face as I attempt to read her intent.

"What," I ask curiously, returning her smirk as I place my washcloth in the hamper and hang my towel neatly next to hers. She says nothing at first, watching me closely as I open her mouth wash, take a swig, and begin to slosh it around in my mouth.

"Oh. Nothing. I just love that after all of these years, you're still just as possessive as the day I met you."

Giving her a questioning look, I slosh the mouth wash around in my mouth a few more times before spitting it out and turning on the water to rinse the sink.

"Possessive?"

"Coffee with Skinner," she says arching her brow.

_Okay. So we're going there._

Breaking our eye contact, I put the mouth wash back in the cabinet before turning to face her.

"You were … free to be with whoever you wanted. We weren't …"

"But I wasn't."

"Wasn't what?"

"Free."

"Scully—"

"I didn't leave because I stopped loving you," she says quietly.

Her response momentarily stuns me into silence.

It's the closest she has come to telling me that she loves me in over four years.

Scully has never been overly verbally demonstrative outside of bed, so the fact that she's making an effort to be more open now fills my heart with longing. One would think that after twenty years, the fire would be gone, but that's never been the case. My love for her has only intensified with time.

"You've asked me numerous times why my house is so much nicer than ours," she says, closing the distance between us. "And you weren't wrong when you compared it to Skinner's."

That fact that she says  _ours_  doesn't escape my attention, but I can tell by her body language that she's not finished saying whatever it is that she's been waiting to say. Taking my hands in hers, she interlaces her fingers with mine and looks up into my eyes as she continues to speak.

"Everything remotely personal is hidden away in closets still packed up in boxes. I couldn't part with any of it, but I couldn't bear to look at any of it either. I bought this house because it was secure and void of everything familiar. It was new … and so different from any place that I had ever lived before … I thought it was what I needed."

"And was it," I ask.

To this, she takes a deep breath and shakes her head.

"This is a house, Mulder. It's not at home. And it's not me — not really."

"But it could be," I whisper, reaching to tuck her hair behind her ear.

The lack of personal touches and photographs has always bothered me more than the technology. Scully has always had pictures of her family displayed in every other space she's occupied. Not having them wasn't like her, but the clean lines, earth tones, and femininity that currently surrounds us is more her than she's admitting.

Our unremarkable house in the middle of nowhere had always been more me than her, and I'm fairly certain she made it that way by design, knowing how much time I would be spending there alone and wanting me to be comfortable. In time, I made sure to incorporate things that were more to her liking, which she undoubtedly appreciated, but overall, the house always catered to my tastes more than hers.

Should I be blessed again with the opportunity to share a home with her, I want her to know that the details don't matter. Not really. All I really want is her.

"I do like all of the natural light and the lack of clutter."

"Noted," I say with a smile

Caressing the sides of her face with my thumbs, I look deeply into her eyes before dipping my head to place my lips over hers, drawing her into a deep, sensual kiss. I take my time exploring her mouth, dropping one of my hands down to her low back and drawing her closer to me.

When the kiss eventually breaks, our eyes meet again. I want so desperately tell her that I love her, but the depth of emotion I find brewing in her eyes gives me pause.

The man I used to be was so profoundly insecure. He needed the words, but as I look into her eyes now, it dawns on me that she's been whispering them all along. I was just too foolish and insecure to hear them. This is a woman who knows she's loved, and who is very much still in love.

Kissing her lightly on the lips, I take her hand in mine and tug at her fingers.

"Let's go to bed."

Walking her to her designated side, I remove her silk robe and turn the down the covers, lifting them and settling her into bed before walking to other side and shutting off the lights.

Joining her, I waste no time intertwining my limbs with hers and kissing her soundly. We've had sex numerous times since the hotel, but I automatically know that this time will be different. It's slow and sensual. Neither of us in any hurry to progress to the next level. We touch and kiss with reverence, slowly removing what's left of the other's clothing.

The discovery that she's not wearing anything under her shorts makes me impossibly harder than what I already am. Stirring her damp sex with my fingers, I swallow her moans and move my free hand from her back to her breast as she shifts her weight entirely on top of me. Taking my length in her hand, she strokes me firmly from root to tip several times before shifting her body to take mine.

No words are spoken as she slides on and off of me. It's hard to believe that after all of these years I can still do this to her. That we can still do this to each other. The fact that I can barely make out her silhouette in the darkness of her room makes the act all that much more sensual and intimate. My hands run along the expanse of her body, memorizing the feel of every inch of skin that I can reach.

As the minutes' tick by she increases the intensity of her rhythm, catching my wandering hands and placing them on her breasts as she grinds her clit roughly into my pubic bone.

"Don't come," she pants quietly as she continues to grind, slide, and squeeze at an increasingly aggressive rate.

"If you keep doing that, I'm not going to be able to hold out … Jesus Scully."

Pinching her nipples and meeting her thrusts, I do everything I can increase the friction between our sexes as I struggle to maintain control. The way she utilizes my body to please herself is intensely erotic. The fact that I can't see her makes me that much more sensitive to the feel of her. The lewd sounds of her wet sex moving against mine in combination with her quiet moans of pleasure only serve to further challenge my resolve.

"I'm almost there … just hold out a little bit longer," she says in a raspy voice that betrays just how close she is.

Releasing her breasts, I move my hands down to her hips, holding them in place and deepening my penetration as I grind myself purposely against her clit. The change in the depth and additional pressure on her clit is all it takes. She comes almost instantly. Squeezing me like a vice, she bucks against me as she rides out her orgasm and goes limp on top of me. I immediately try to flip us over, wanting nothing more than to empty myself into her depths, but her firm grip on my biceps stops me from doing so.

"No. The rest is for you."

Before I can ask her what she means, she slides down the length of my body, grabbing me, stroking me and taking me into her mouth.

"Fuck Scully!"

It's taking every brain cell I have to stop myself from thrusting into the back of her throat when she teases me with her tongue and takes as much of me as she can into her mouth without gagging herself.

The knowledge that she tastes herself just as much as she tastes me is nearly enough to make me come on the spot, but as I grip her hair and arch my back, I fight the urge screaming inside of me to come, not wanting this small slice of heaven to end so quickly.

I hold out for as long as I can as she continues to pleasure me with her mouth, but as her hands work wonders where her tongue can't reach my control wains.

"Scully … Jesus … I'm going to …"

Her only response is to increase the intensity of the magic symphony occurring inside of her mouth. When I can no longer hold back, she swallows every bit of my release, not diminishing the intensity of her ministrations until I lightly pull at her hair and touch her shoulder, signaling that I want her to come up.

Laughing lightly at my disheveled disposition, she kisses her way up my body until she reaches my lips.

"Was it good for you too?" she whispers playfully as her lips hover over mine.

"If it were any better you might actually kill me."

"Can't have that."

As her lips move across mine, my hands descend to reciprocate, but before I can reach my intended destination, her hands catch mine.

"Later," she says, grabbing and stilling my hands. "Now we sleep."

Intertwining her legs with mine, she lowers her head to rest on my chest and snuggles into my side.

It's not until we are completely still that I realize how absolutely exhausted I am. We drift off to sleep with my fingers running through her hair, skin to skin and breath to breath. My last fleeting thought before I succumb to exhaustion is  _this is home_.


	10. Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre 11x07 - Rm9sbg93zxjz
> 
> Mulder asks Scully out on a date.
> 
> Warning: This chapter does contain explicit material.

**SCULLY**

I wake to a shifting mattress and a partially clothed Mulder spooning in behind me. I don't recall him leaving, but he's clearly been up and moving around long enough to cool his body. The contact of his cold hands and feet send shivers throughout my body that immediately jolt me into full consciousness.

"Mulder …"

Groaning, I kick at his cold feet and draw the covers more tightly around myself in an attempt to keep the cool air at bay as he shifts behind me, but the annoyance in my tone and flightiness of my movement does little to deter him. He easily overpowers my attempts to bat him away, drawing my naked body flush against his own and peppering the side of my face and neck with kisses, tickling my sensitive skin with his morning stubble.

"Seriously? If it's before 8:00 I'm getting my gun."

"Well, then I guess it's good that I let you sleep in. It's well past 8:00 sleeping beauty … in fact, most places have already stopped serving breakfast."

"What time is it," I ask as I tuck my feet in between his legs, rubbing them against the long pajama bottoms he's wearing in an attempt to undo the damage his feet have done.

"Past 11:00," he says, chuckling at my efforts to escape his blocks of ice knowing good and well how much I hate it when he gets into bed and rubs his cold feet on me. Although I can't see his face, the humor in his voice and energy in hands makes it impossible for me to remain irritated with him.

"Is it really?"

Keeping my voice passive is becoming increasingly difficult as his hands move to caress my breasts, brushing the tips of his fingers over my nipples in a way that sends a very different kind of chill down my spine. The blow job I gave him before bed clearly made an impression that is still very much at large, for the way he is touching me now is one of gratitude.

"Are insinuating that I would lie to you about the time?"

"Hmm …," I say with a chuckle. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"You wound me."

Laughing lightly, I surrender to his caress, extending my position in his arms to allow him easier access to my most private spaces.

"You said  _later_ , and it's definitely  _later_ ," he whispers into my ear, moving one of his hands down to caress my center.

I swallow the gasp that echoes in my throat as his fingers brush up and down my sex and settle over my clit. There's no way I'll deny what he's offering me, but that doesn't stop me from teasing him.

"What makes you think that I'm open for business," I ask him playfully as he dips one finger inside of me and then another.

"Besides the fact that your legs are open … and that you're … sopping wet?"

I groan when he inserts the third finger, pressing myself against his hand to encourage him to give my clit the same attention he is given the rest of my sex.

"Tell me that you don't want me to touch you and I'll stop."

"Mmmmm … well," I say as I spread my legs wider, "I think that ship has sailed."

Placing my hands over his, I encourage his touch both above and below the border, directing his rhythm as he continues to dip into me, rub me, and kiss me in all the right places, but as I approach my release, I slow his hands and close my legs slightly to keep myself from coming.

"Mulder," I say squeezing his fingers, "I want you with me."

Without saying a word, he removes his hands from my body long enough to remove his pants and free his body to mate with mine.

The feel of his rock hard arousal against the crease of my ass only heightens my yearning for him.

Placing his hand along my waist, he pulls my body back against his, encouraging me to spread my legs further as he guides himself inside of me.

No matter how many times we do this, I'll never get over how good he feels. From the very first time, I knew he was it. I had enjoyed sex with other men before being with him, but he's ruined me for anyone else. Nobody else could possibly fill me, touch me, and love me as he does. We've danced around those three magic words for several weeks now, but they don't necessarily have to be stated for me to know exactly what we're doing and exactly what this is.

As our bodies begin to move in sync, his hands migrate to cover my breasts, toying with my nipples as he kisses my neck and whispers softly into my ear.

"You're perfect, Scully. Absolutely perfect."

"You're already in, you don't have to butter me up," I tell him playfully as I meet him thrust for thrust.

"Oh, is that what you think I'm doing," he asks, chuckling into my shoulder as his lips continue to explore me in all the areas he can reach.

As our rhythm intensifies, he moves one of his hands down to caress my clit as he continues to slide in and out of me.

"Mmmm … God, Mulder … that feels amazing … please ... don't … don't stop."

And he doesn't.

Our playful banter desists as he continues his ministrations, playing my body as if it's a finely tuned instrument, stringing me along, pleasuring me, and making love to me like it's the last thing he will ever do. He's not rough, but he isn't gentle either. Moving us slightly, he adjusts his position behind me to increase the depth of his penetration, gaining access to the very spot deep inside of me that he knows will make me gasp. And he's not wrong. Within seconds I'm breathless and tumbling over the edge with him following closely behind me — both literally and figuratively.

For a few moments, neither of us speak — the emotions flowing through us too deep to voice.

He slips out of me slowly, adjusting my legs to rest more comfortably between his own as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me back against his chest and placing his cheek against my own — both of us silent until my stomach growls, breaking the moment.

When both of our hands instinctively move to rest over my stomach at the same time, we laugh.

"Hungry?"

Shifting my position, I turn to face him.

"A bit."

His eyes hold gentle laughter and something else. Something that I haven't seen in a long time — light.

"That was …  _Nice_. Thank you."

"Just  _nice,_ " he asks, cocking his brow in mock offense.

"Ok. It was  _very_  nice," I say with a smile, ghosting my lips over his. " _Very_ ,  _very_  nice."

Moving my lips across his and opening my mouth, I show him just how  _very nice_  I think it was … almost to the point of engaging in round two. If it weren't for my growling stomach, we likely would have done just that, but when it growls again, he laughs against my lips and breaks our kiss.

"Why don't you get dressed. I'll order something. There's not much here and going to store hungry never ends well."

"No. No, it doesn't. What time is it?"

"It's a little after 12:00, why?"

"Shit. I've got an appointment at 1:30," I say as roll away from him and move to get up out of bed.

I'm stopped short when the room starts to spin.

Quickly grabbing the sheets along the side of the bed, I close my eyes in an attempt to stabilize myself.

"Ugh, God."

Noting the immediate change in my both my tone and demeanor, his hand immediately finds its place on my low back.

"What's wrong, Scully? Are you okay?"

Sitting up behind me, he runs his hands up and down my back and waits for me to settle.

"Dizzy?"

For a moment, I think I'm going to be sick, but the sensation quickly passes.

"Yes … Yes. I'm fine. I just got up too fast I think … I'm okay now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it hit me as soon as I sat up. Probably a combination of getting up too fast, sleeping far too long, and not eating much of anything before I went to bed. The only thing I've had since lunch yesterday is nuts, coffee, and cereal, and that's certainly long gone … especially after that," I say, directing my eyes to the crumpled sheets.

To this, he smirks.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, moving his hand up to rest on my shoulder.

"Yeah. I'm fine. It passed. I need to shower though. I'm sure I smell like sex."

"There are certainly worse smells," he says with a smile, kissing my shoulder as I move to stand. His eyes follow me curiously as I walk across the room and into the bathroom.

"What's the appointment?"

"Oh, it's just a hair appointment," I tell him, not bothering to close the door as I pull a fresh towel out of the cabinet and pee.

"Are you going to get it cut?"

"I was thinking about it. It's harder to manage when it's longer. Certainly takes longer to dry and straighten."

"I like it, but I can't say that there's ever been a time when I didn't like it."

"Well, that's encouraging," I say, passing in front of the door and smiling at him as I turn on the water and get into the shower.

"What do you want to eat?"

He has put his pants back on and is now standing the in the doorway watching me through the glass as I lather soap in my hair.

"Umm. Nothing greasy. Sandwich or salad maybe?"

"Panera?"

"Yes. A spicy Thai salad with chicken."

"Do you want soup too or just the salad?"

"Ask if they still have the vegetarian autumn squash."

"That sounds … gross, but I'll ask them."

I laugh but don't bother to respond as he leaves and goes into the other room to make the call.

The fact that he's indulging me this morning hasn't escaped my attention, nor does the fact that I'm letting him.

The discussions we've had and the intimacy we've shared throughout the last several weeks has seemingly settled something between us. The strain and awkwardness that was there has waned significantly. For the first time in close to five years, I'm hopeful that what was broken between us can actually be mended …. allowing us to again engulf ourselves in the comfort that we once shared so many years ago before things got so messy and convoluted. Before he died. Before William.

When I shut the water off and enter the bedroom, he's sitting on the bed waiting on me.

Now fully dressed in casual, street-worthy clothes, he appears to have plans to leave as well.

"Have errands to run?" I ask him casually, trying my best to not look at him as he watches me towel off and dig through my drawers in search of a bra and panties.

It's not that his eyes aren't welcomed to look or that I'm not appreciative of his admiration …

It's the intensity that puts me on edge, for the look he's giving now is a look that puts butterflies in my stomach and weakens my knees.

"A few," he says simply.

His eyes remain locked on me, following me as I move around the room, finish dressing, and wrap my hair up in a towel.

"See something you like?" I ask him, only daring to look at him now that I'm fully dressed.

"You're beautiful Scully."

A slight blush makes its way up my neck and into my cheeks as I shake my head lightly — a smile playing on my lips.

Nothing further is exchanged as I retreat into the bathroom to dry my hair and apply my makeup. He disappears for a few minutes to collect and pay for the food when it arrives, but is back and standing in the doorway behind me within a few minutes of the doorbell ringing.

"Scully?"

"Yeah," I say, my eyes meeting his in the mirror as I put in my earrings.

"I want to take you to dinner tonight."

"Mmmmm … you mean, like a date?"

"Yes. Exactly like a date," he says coming up behind me to rest his hands on my hips.

"And if I already had plans?"

"Cancel them," he says — his eyes a combination of playful and serious.

Leaning back against him, I give him smirk, which he returns.

"Where are we going then?"

"Wherever you want."

"Hmmm … I'll have to think about it and get back to you."

"Ok, well while you think about it, I'm going to take care of a few things at the house. I'll pick you up at 6:30."

"Are you not going to stay and eat?"

"Nope. Some of us need more to live on than rabbit food and squash soup Scully."

"So something with a diversified menu for tonight then?"

"No, truly. Pick whatever you want. I'm going to eat lunch in preparation of surviving whatever you pick for dinner."

The look of warning I give him is playful. It's been years, many years since I have seen Mulder this playful and flirty. Looking at his playful smile reflected in the mirror takes me back 20 years … back to where we started. It also takes me back to something that he said to me several weeks ago. About how when he looked mirror he could see how much he had changed, yet when he looked at me, nothing had changed at all. I find myself thinking the same thing as I look at him and hold his gaze.

Sensing the tone has changed, his face transforms from playful to cautious.

"Scully?"

Easing my expression and laughing lightly, I turn to face him, placing my hands over his.

"I'll play nice and pick something we can both live with, so don't overdo it on lunch."

"Okay."

For a moment we just stand there and look into each other's eyes … each of us with a smile playing on our lips.

"I'll pick you up at 6:30. Your lunch is on the bar," he says, dipping his head down to kiss me lightly on the lips before stepping away and turning to leave.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

He smiles and nods, parting with a simple — " _later_."


	11. Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 11x07 - Rm9sbg93zxjz
> 
> Warning: This chapter does contain explicit material.

**MULDER**

We leave the diner hand in hand, enjoying the crisp morning air as we begin the six block walk back to her house.

She's so quiet that for a moment I wonder if something might be wrong.

"Scully?" I ask squeezing her hand. "You okay?"

Giving me a reassuring smile, she squeezes back.

"Yeah. Just tired. I'm getting too old to run through warehouses in the middle of the night."

Neither of us is tolerating the all-nighters and physicality of our jobs as well we used too, but we both still have plenty of scoot in our boots — something Scully made very clear when she emptied her pockets earlier.

"But not too old to have a vibrator in your pocket?"

I ask because I can't let it go. I know there has to be a story there, and I'm certainly curious.

Giving me a look of mock indignation, she smacks at my side. The cool morning breeze carries her light laughter but offers little assistance hiding her blush as it rises into her cheeks.

"Oh common Scully. You can't NOT tell me how that came to be."

She sighs, shaking her head in surrender.

"You know the text I sent to you? The one about the mystery Roomba?"

"Yeah."

"Well, when I got it out of the box and let it loose, it went from room to room to map out the house and ended up under my bed. Apparently,  _it_  was under there somewhere because when the Roomba came out … so did it. I haven't … used it in a while, so I hadn't even noticed that it wasn't in the drawer."

" _The drawer_?"

"Yes, Mulder,  _the drawer_."

"What else is in this drawer Scully?

"Things that I no longer need."

"I really think I need to see this drawer."

"Mulder …"

"So …  _pinky_  … was it good?"

" _Pinky,_  Mulder? Really?"

"Well, would you rather I call it—"

"It was … nice, but nothing quite compares to the real thing."

"If you want another one …"

"Really, it's fine."

"So … you just put it in your pocket?"

"Mulder …"

"What? A guy can't be curious when his date shows up with a vibrator in her pocket?"

"After what I woke up to about this same time yesterday … you have nothing to worry about. Now can we please talk about something else on this  _very_  public street?"

Laughing lightly, I bring my arm up to rest on her shoulder.

"You should pack a couple of bags," I say, changing the subject. "The repairs may take several weeks, and there is no sense in living in the middle of a construction zone. Not when there is somewhere else you can stay."

"Hmm … And how might living with you would be different from a construction zone?"

Laughing, I draw her closer to me as we walk.

"You're funny, but I'm serious."

"I know but …"

"No. No buts. I want you with me."

I'm tempted to add  _always_  or  _forever_ , but the silence that follows gives me pause. It's a conversation that I want to have with her. I want her to come home, but I'm also acutely aware of the fact that, now, walking alongside a busy street after running from robots all night is likely not the best time to ask.

Letting it go, for the time being, I drop my arm from her shoulder to seek her hand.

"You know. Our date was a bit of a disaster. I think next time we should just order in. Safer that way."

"Next time?" she asks, looking up at me with a cocked brow.

There's an edge to her voice, but it's playful.

"Yes. Next time."

"Your pretty confident for a guy who lost his debit card and kept his date out all night running from home explosions and assassin bots."

"Well. That's certainly one way to look at it. And here I thought that I had a chance because I protected my date from gratuity bullies who thought they had a right to a generous tip despite the fact that they got my order wrong, stole my debit card, and blew up your house."

Laughing, she intertwines our fingers.

"I could probably be talked into ordering in and a long soak in a certain claw foot tub."

"So you'll pack a bag?" I ask with a smile.

"Mmmmm … maybe even two."

We hold a comfortable silence between us for the remaining three blocks, enjoying the fresh morning air as we walk hand in hand.

 

* * *

 

By the time Scully finishes making the necessary calls for repairs and packs a couple of bags it's close to 4:00 PM, putting us much later getting back to the house than I had anticipated.

I'm thankful that I took the time to go to the store the day before because I certainly had not planned on dealing with a house fire and running from robots all night. In fact, I planned for the evening to unfold quite differently, which will be quite apparent whenever she goes upstairs, if not before.

As we walk in the door, Scully stops abruptly. Her back is to me, but she's clearly stopped to take in my handiwork. Putting down her suitcases, I move to stand behind her, placing my hands on her hips and kissing the top of her head.

"Let me take your coat."

Relaxing her shoulders, she allows me to take one arm out and then the other before turning to face me.

"Did you do all of this yesterday?"

"No, not all of it."

Which is true. I did spend a good portion of yesterday afternoon cleaning and de-cluttering the living room, but I've been strategically re-organizing, painting, and going through the house room by room for weeks in anticipation of this very moment. I've never considered myself to be a slob, but it's no state secret that my disorganization and pack rat tendencies have driven Scully insane for well over two decades.

I suspect that convincing her to come home will be much like every other aspect of our relationship — a process. Her leaving wasn't something that happened overnight. While it would be inaccurate to state that there were no heated exchanges, ultimatums, or broken glass, those instances were not what ultimately lead to our demise. The silence that followed is what ultimately tore us apart.

The conversation we had in bed at the St. Rachel Motel shifted something inside of me, giving me the courage that I needed to start talking again, not just with words but with action. She's it for me. I've told her as much, but I can't just tell her. Not after everything I've put her through. This house has always been more me than her, so on the nights we've spent apart, I've made good use of my time. Less clutter. More light. More Scully.

"Well, it looks nice."

"I suspected that you might approve."

"Although, now I'm bit scared to open the closets."

"Go ahead. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Would you like salad, pasta, or both?"

Raising her brow, she looks at me inquisitively.

"Yes. I, Fox Mulder, bought rabbit food at the store just for you."

"And just what kind of salad did the fox buy the hare?" she asks, wrapping her arms around my waist and looking up into my eyes with a playful smile playing on her lips.

"One that comes in a box filled with spinach and other various greens … the kind that I happen to know is hare's favorite … but I also bought a caesar mix, which I thought would go better with the chicken fettuccine."

"I'm impressed," she says, raising up on her tiptoes to kiss me lightly on the lips. "Anything I can do to help?"

"If you want to be in charge of the greenery, I'll handle the pasta."

If I weren't trying to keep her downstairs, I would insist that she do nothing, but I know that if tell her just to relax she will go upstairs, and I want to be with her when goes. I've done far more work up there than I have down here.

"The cabinets too," she asks, pulling out a large bowl and then two smaller ones.

Smiling, I shrug my shoulders and get the pasta going, pouring us each a glass of wine as she prepares the salad. We keep the conversation light, discussing various TV programs and movies, debating on whether or not we are up for watching something before we go to bed. But by the time we finish eating and cleaning up the kitchen, the decision to call it an early night has already been made for us. The combination of no sleep and a heavy glutenous meal has left us both dead on our feet.

Grabbing both of her bags, I lead her upstairs.

While I'm anxious to see her face, I'm also a bit nervous, worrying that it might be too much, but there's no turning back now.

When the lights flick on her footsteps fall quiet behind my own.

Placing her bags at the foot of our bed, I turn to face her and find tears forming in her eyes as she takes in the new decor.

Using color schemes and patterns that I knew she would appreciate, I painted and redecorated the bedroom and bathroom, updating the shelving and bedding to a style bordering between rustic and modern to combine both of our styles. The accent pillows, lamps, and curtains adding just enough of a feminine touch to drive home the point that this is just as much her room as it is mine.

"Mulder …"

Moving to stand in front of her, I lift my hands to her cheeks and wipe at her tears.

"Don't cry," I tell her. "I had planned to show this off under different circumstances … not when we were both dead on our feet, but … I … Scully, you picked this house because you knew that I would love it. You picked it because it was me."

She starts to speak, but I quiet her.

"Before you say anything, let me finish," I say gently, dropping my hands to her shoulders and squeezing them. "You've spent a good portion of the last twenty-five years making decisions based on what was best for everyone else … always thinking of yourself last, because that is who you are … and I … I never thanked you enough for that. But this … this is your home too. When you're here, I want you to see you as much as you see me."

"Mulder, I picked this house because it was exactly what we needed."

"What we needed? Or what I needed?"

"What you needed was what I needed, Mulder. I needed to be able to go work knowing that you were safe. Burying you once nearly killed me. The only reason I got up in the morning was that I had your child growing inside of me. William kept me alive. He gave me a reason to live when everything else inside of me was dead."

"Scully—"

"Everything I did … I didn't do it just for you. I did it for me. I did it for me because I couldn't live without you. I did it ... because I loved you."

"Scully I—"

"And I still do."

For a moment we are both silent, gazing into each other's eyes — each of us watching the emotions play across the face of the other.

Tears are again pooling in her eyes, but this time I don't stop them.

"Being home has never been about the decor. When you're with me … actually, with me, that's when I'm home."

"But I wasn't with you ... not always ... I wasn't what you deserved. I've never been what you deserved," I tell her as I run my hands through the shortened strands of her hair, tucking them behind her ears, "but I want to be."

Kissing me lightly on the lips, she whispers "you've driven me crazy from the moment I met you, and as infuriating as that can be, it has only ever made me want you more."

"Are you coming on to me Scully?"

Smiling, she kisses me lightly on the lips, dropping her hands down to play with the hem of my shirt.

"I don't know … why don't you go run some bath water and find out."

"Hmmm ... jasmine or lavender?"

"Surprise me."

When she comes in behind me a few moments later wearing nothing but her cross and a smile, I briefly ponder the existence of God. God or not. I'm a very lucky man.

 

* * *

 

The clock reads 4:16 A.M. and Scully is gone. Before I can work my legs out from underneath the covers, the toilet flushes and relief washes over me. Our exchange last night should have settled me, especially given that she packed enough clothes to stay for several weeks, if not longer, but there's still a level of uncertainty that lies between us. We are bound to one another in a way that extends beyond words, yet when it comes down to it, I long for vows of certainty and commitment.

We've been here before. Her place — then mine. Together but not together. And sex — lots of sex. But it's not enough. It will never be enough.

Her bare feet pat quietly against the hardwood floor as she makes her way back to our bed. Although the room is dark, I can still make out enough of her features to know that she is aware that she is being watched. Lifting up the covers in silent invitation, I gather her into my arms as she crawls back into bed.

"You worry too much," she says, snuggling up to my side and placing her head on the upper portion of my chest.

I'm tempted to make some sort of corny joke that only she could appreciate or outright deny the panic I felt when I woke up without her beside me, but I do neither of those things because things are different now — I'm different.

After being separated for nearly four years, we are back to sharing a bed, and the idea that I could lose her again terrifies the hell out of me. So instead of telling a joke or dancing around the panic, I feel every time she's away from me, I hit it head-on.

"Worry was not something that really existed in my world until I met you."

"This coming from a Red Sox and Knicks fan?"

This makes me chuckle. She's always found joy in poking at my love for lost causes.

I can tell by her voice that she is in a playful mood, so for the moment, I play.

"That's different."

"How so?"

"Because that's not worrying. That's excitement mixed with a bit of anxiety."

"Hmmm," she says as she traces random shapes on my chest.

She's doing what we've always done. We tease and taunt, dancing around the more serious conversations.

Limbo worked for us in the early stages of our relationship when we were fearful and insecure of our feelings for one another, but that isn't the case anymore. I know exactly how I feel and exactly what I want, so I switch gears and return to my original point. Coming home has to be her decision, but by the time she leaves our bed this morning, she's going to know exactly what I want.

"Worry, for me, only sees the light of day when I think about losing you."

She stills, caught off guard by the seriousness of my tone and the gravity of my confession.

"I'm not going anywhere, Mulder."

Her voice is soft as she nuzzles into my chest.

"No. Not this time. Not if I have any say."

"You do."

I respond by kissing the top of her head and shifting my arms to pull her body more tightly against my own.

Surrendering to my hands as they move along the expanse of her back, she hums in appreciation, running her hands along my sides and across my chest. The light teasing nature of her caress in combination with the feel of her breath as it runs across my skin and through the fine hair on my chest is intoxicating, filling me with a longing that only she can satisfy.

I know she feels it because I can feel her smiling as she skillfully shifts her weight to straddle me. Lifting her head, she runs her nose against my morning stubble and begins kissing me on my neck.

"I've missed this. I've missed you," I tell her as my hands roam the expanse of her back and settle on her ass, giving it a firm squeeze to encourage her to continue doing exactly what she's doing.

She chuckles as my arousal continues to grow against her.

"Hmmm … me or this?" she asks, playfully grinding her pelvis into mine.

"God, Scully …"

There's enough light in the room for me to see the sparkle in her eyes when our gaze locks. The look between us only lasts for a few seconds before I release my hold on her, raising my hands to caress the side of her face as I draw her lips to mine. As our kiss deepens, I lower my hands, slipping them under her shirt to cover her breasts. We lay like this for several minutes. Kissing and touching in all the places that make the other gasp until she can't take it anymore and begins to move against me.

Unable to stop the moan that breaks out of my throat as she rubs her sex against mine, I break our kiss and look into her eyes. She's biting her lip and giving me a smile that she knows drives me absolutely insane.

Scully knows exactly what she is doing. She always has.

"I want you."

"You have me," she says, emphasizing her statement by squeezing her thighs against my waist and rubbing herself so firmly against me that I can feel exactly how wet she is despite the fact that we both are both still partially clothed.

Even in the state that I'm in, I still want to make it clear to her what I'm really asking. What I really want.

"No. I mean — I want you. I want this to be forever."

She shifts her weight to allow her hand to snake down between us where she finds me ready to take her.

"This is forever," she replies simply as she shifts her head to nibble along my neck. Reaching into my boxers, she wraps her hand firmly around me, stroking me fully as she gyrates her hips in a rhythm against my thigh that leaves little to the imagination.

"God Scully, if you keep doing that I'm not going to last very long."

"Who says you need to last?" she asks playfully, lightly scraping her teeth along my shoulder.

She sits up slowly, releasing her hold on me long enough to remove the tee shirt she's wearing and toss it to the side. The smile that adorns her lips is playful. Happy, horny Scully has always been my favorite Scully, but there is only so much more of this I can take.

"You know I'm not into quickies," I say as I grab her hips, stilling her movement, and flipping us over in one swift motion.

Our change in position is so sudden that she lets out a small squeal of surprise that I quickly silence with my mouth. My hands pull at her panties pushing them down and away from her body until she can kick them off the rest of way.

Now, completely naked, she spreads her legs and pulls at my boxers. I break our kiss long enough to help her push them the rest of the way down, and then drape my body over hers as I return the favor — my mouth and pelvis mimicking the rhythm she set earlier. Wrapping her legs around my waist, she snakes her hand down and tilts her pelvis to align us. But this time I stop her, grasping both of her hands and bringing them overhead, adjusting my position on top of her and aligning my pubis with her clit. Taking complete command of her body, I pick up the pace she set earlier, skillfully grinding into her clit in a way that I know will drive her absolutely insane.

Within a few minutes, her hands are squeezing mine, and her breaths are coming in short gasps.

"Mulder … It's too much; I'm too close."

"I know," I reply, retaking her lips and increasing the intensity of my movements as I press the full weight of my body against hers to create as much contact and friction as I can without actually entering her.

She breaks the kiss in an attempt to catch her breath.

"Fuck Mulder … I'm going to come."

"I know," I say as lightly suck on the sensitive place on her neck just below her ear.

And that does it. I can feel her entire body tighten. Her legs are shaking, and her center is dripping wet as I continue to grind into her, drawing out her orgasm.

She's breathing heavily and making noises that go straight to my groin, but I'm not finished.

As her orgasm subsides and her muscles begin to relax, I release her, freeing my hands and mouth to caress her everywhere. Working my way slowly down her body, I take my time and giving equal attention to each of her breasts before moving down to kiss her stomach and then each of her inner thighs.

When my lips come into contact with her center she moans loudly, shamelessly lifting and grinding her pelvis into my face in an attempt to get the pressure she wants, but I stop her, anchoring her with my hands as I continue to tease her with my mouth.

"God, Mulder … stop … stop teasing me … Fuck … I can't …"

Her hands are in my hair, pulling and pressing to direct me where she wants me as my fingers part her folds and enter her, taking care to hit her in all the right places. I pause intermittently to appreciate her body as it arches off of the bed.

Returning my mouth to her center, I use my tongue and mouth to circle and suck on her clit as I continue to use my fingers to pleasure her. I know she's getting close when I feel her walls tighten and her legs begin to shake.

With one more flick of the tongue, I send her over the edge a second time, this time being more intense than the first. Her fluids soak my hand and mouth as she continues to buck against me, riding out the waves of her orgasm.

Not wanting to overstimulate her to the point of discomfort, I give her moment to settle down as I reach down to coat myself in her fluids before climbing up her body and aligning myself between her legs. I kiss her neck and whisper in her ear as I fondle her breasts.

"Do you have any idea how fucking hot that is to watch Scully?"

The smile she gives me takes my breath away. Twenty-five years later, she's still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Giving her a few more seconds to recover, I gaze deeply into her eyes as I prod her entrance, rubbing myself fully against her before entering her in one swift motion.

" _FUUUCK,_ Mulder," she moans as she extends her neck and closes her eyes.

"Yes — that's the idea."

Her soft laugh fills the room, making my heart swell. Giving her moment to adjust, I pepper her neck and shoulder with kisses as my hands run softly along the sides of her body. When she relaxes her legs and squeezes the length of me buried deep inside of her, I begin to move — gyrating my hips slowly, stretching her to ensure that she feels every inch I have to offer her.

"Mulder," she says softly, "I want to be on top."

Obliging, I push her knees down gently, positioning us to roll without breaking contact. She takes my cue, clinging to me and pushing with her legs as I roll onto my back.

Sitting up, she adjusts her legs and hips to position me inside of her exactly where she wants me — her eyes holding the sparkle of a woman who has been well satisfied. I run my hands along her sides until I reach her breasts where she encourages my touch by placing her hands over mine and gazing into my eyes as she sets our rhythm.

"God Mulder," she moans, "how did we survive four years without this?"

"I'm still not sure how I survived the first seven."

To this, she laughs.

"Before we had no idea what we were missing," she says, emphasizing the word we by grinding her pelvis more forcefully into mine and squeezing the length of my arousal buried deep inside of her. "If we had, we wouldn't have lasted seven years."

" _OH_ , I had an idea," I tell her.

"Hmmm …"

The rhythm she set was slow, sensual, and steady at first, but as we continue, she begins to lose control. Squeezing and squirming uncontrollably as she gets closer to release. I move my hands from her breasts to her hips to secure her pelvis tightly against mine to aid in creating the friction she's seeking. She's close, but I'm about to explode. Knowing I won't last much longer at this pace with her breasts bouncing in front of my face, I adjust my hands on her waist so that my thumbs can reach her clit.

The erotic image of her coming undone on top of me nearly pushes me over the edge, but I use every last ounce of strength and restraint I have to let her finish first. Any other time, I would finish with her, but this morning I want to come inside of her when she's not distracted by her own pleasure. I want to come with no space between us … with my weight on hers as I look deeply into her eyes. So instead of finishing with her, I wait until she collapses on my chest before I flip us back over.

With all of my weight now on top of her, I slip my hands under knees, drawing them up to increase the depth of my penetration as I continue to pump into her.

"Look at me, Scully."

Her eyes are heavy and filled with satisfaction, but they lock with mine as I give her everything I have and empty myself into her depths.

For a few moments, we remain this way, staring into each other's eyes as we both fight to catch our breath. The smile that spreads across her face as she reaches out to caress my cheek stirs something deep with me, something beyond words.

I kiss her softly, running my hands run lightly through her hair. After a few moments, I break the kiss, placing smaller kisses on her cheeks before brushing my nose against hers and whispering — "I love you."

"I love you too," she says, kissing me lightly.

"Come home, Dana."

Looking deeply into her eyes, I search for her answer, stopping the tears as they track down her face. I start to wipe them away, but she raises her hand to cover mine, anchoring it in place as she speaks.

"Soon — Fox."

"Scully …"

But she interrupts me, placing her finger over my lips to silence me.

"Soon," she says before placing her lips against mine and sealing her promise with a kiss that leaves me breathless.


	12. HCG 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scenes from 11x08 - Familiar
> 
> Scully learns of her pregnancy

**SCULLY**

"You okay Scully?"

"Hmmm?"

"I asked if you were okay," he says, gently placing his hand on my shoulder.

Cases involving the death of a small child were always difficult for me, even before William. But after William, every child I saw, especially young boys, somehow morphed into the son I gave away. Normally, I'm able to maintain a mask of professionalism and keep my emotions at bay even under the most heinous circumstances, but today as I examined Andrew Eggers' body, I lost it. Thankfully, there was no one around to witness it. Mulder left to chase down eyewitnesses and look into various sources of salt, and the local coroner, who had undoubtedly omitted several pertinent details from his report, had made himself scarce. I was able to conclude my examination and gather the samples needed for testing, but not without emptying the contents of my stomach first.

"It's just been a long day, and I hate these kinds of cases," I tell him.

Mulder is far too perceptive for me to pass myself off as being completely fine, so I don't even try.

Sitting beside me on the bed he places his hand on my thigh and squeezes it.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"When was the last time you ate?"

Lifting my eyes to meet his, I give him a look of warning, which he promptly ignores.

"I'll order us something."

I start to object but stop when I note the expression on his face. It's a look I know all too well. Regardless of what I say, he's going to order food, and if I want the rest of the evening to be tolerable, I'll at least attempt to eat it.

"Fine. I'm going to shower," I say, leaving him to order whatever it is that he is going to order.

I've been in the shower maybe five minutes when I hear the door open and the toilet seat drop. Sighing to myself, I wait for what I know is coming.

"Talk to me, Scully."

"About?"

"Today. What's bothering you."

"I'm fine Mulder I just—"

"Please don't shut me out."

Closing my eyes tightly, I cross my arms over my chest and take a deep breath as I let the water cascade over me. The tone of his voice is solemn and soft, with just enough hurt laced in to shred me.

"I'm not … I just … These cases are always hard, and on top of it all I just feel off."

"Off how?"

"I got sick at the morgue today," I tell him hesitantly. "After you left.".

He's quiet for a moment before he responds.

"I wish you would have told me … I would have ordered something other than Chinese."

The mere thought of Chinese food makes me want to hurl, but I keep that to myself, not wanting him to go through the trouble of ordering something else just for me.

"I felt better afterward … likely just something I ate."

"We had a light lunch today, and we both had the same thing."

It's true, and he's right in what he's implying. Splitting a club sandwich and bag of chips isn't something that would likely upset a stomach.

"Did you see him?"

He says it so quietly that I almost miss it.

Normally I would deflect or just pretend that I didn't hear him, but I know I can't. Not if we are doing this again. If we are doing this again, we can't make the same mistakes.

Sighing, I relent, answering his question honestly.

"To some degree I always do … I always have. Not just in my work, but in shopping centers and on playgrounds. He's never far from my mind, but it's different now than it was before."

"How?"

"Because now we know."

"Yet we don't."

"But we will."

While we may not yet have all the pieces, we do have a name. Having a name has been everything and nothing all at the same time. My first interactions with my son were nothing like I had imagined them being, yet I've managed to find comfort in them. His soft smile and relaxed demeanor on surveillance footage have given me hope that he's more level-headed than what his history suggests. It also gives me hope that one day, he'll let me wrap my arms around him. I think that's been the key — hope. Before, he was the ghost that haunted us — a figment of fantasy that we couldn't run from.

Seeing him again after all this time made him real, which in turn has made a future with him in it a reality. And that … that is everything.

"Are you planning to save any warm water for me, or should I prepare myself for another ice bucket challenge?"

I turn to find him peering through the curtain at me as I finish rinsing my hair. He studies my face, undoubtedly trying to determine if he thinks that I am actually okay.

"You could always join."

He gives me a soft smile and lowers his eyes to appreciate my body.

"We both know what happens when I join the party, and there is  _nothing_  economical about it. Also. The food should be here any minute. I just … I wanted to make sure that you were okay."

"I will be."

After studying my face for a moment, he nods.

Letting go of the curtain, he moves towards the door and opens it to leave.

Just when I think he's left, he speaks again.

"You can tell me anything, Scully."

"I know."

My voice is soft and filled with emotion and tears are brimming in my eyes, not because he's upset me, but because with each passing day it becomes more and more apparent that the apprehension that still lies between us has absolutely nothing to do with him.

It's me.

He's waiting to catch me. All I have to do is jump.

 

* * *

 

"Dana? Dana Scully?"

Putting my magazine down, I stand to greet the nurse, following her back to a private room where we exchange pleasantries as she takes my vitals and confirms that my documentation in the system is accurate.

After putting the Eggers case to bed, I took a day off to oversee some of the work being done on the house, order new furniture, and to make sure that I made this appointment. Fieldwork requires clearance from a physician. A physician other than myself.

I had to cancel the last three appointments due to being out of town on a case, but not making the one today would put me on desk duty pending a physician release. I've put this off as long as I possibly could because I'm not ready to look at blood work and acknowledge the fact that my body is changing. I don't yet have all the signs, but with my age and history, I know it's coming.

"Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up. Your paperwork is due next week isn't it?"

"Hello to you too Crystal, and yes, you know me all too well," I say with a laugh as I stand to embrace her.

Crystal Baltz was one of my more promising residents in the years that I worked at  _Our Lady of Sorrows_. Her ambition, attention to detail, and lack of tolerance for nonsense fostered the development of a fast rapport between the two of us that would later develop into a friendship. I missed her terribly after she left.

Choosing her as my primary when she settled down in D.C. following her residency had been a no-brainer.

"How have you been, Dana?"

"Busy."

"Some things never change," she says with a knowing smile.

"No. I guess not. Downtime is not something I do well."

"Oh, I'm aware! So … any major concerns aside from the fatigue and nausea you mentioned in your intake?"

"Just anxious about the changes I know are coming. The process is starting, and I'm trying to stay in denial about it."

"Ah. Hot flashes?"

"No."

"Mood swings?"

"I've been more emotional than moody."

"Would you say that your work has been more or less stressful than the last time we spoke?"

"There have certainly been a few cases that have hit close to home, so I guess more."

"Okay, what about your periods? Are you still pretty irregular?"

"Yes, but that's not uncommon for me given my history."

She nods.

"When was your last cycle?"

"Hmmm … about four months ago give or take?"

"Is it typical for you to be that irregular?"

"No, not really. Normally it's more regular than that."

"Okay. What about vaginal dryness?"

I desperately try to stop the flush I feel rising in my cheeks, but I can tell by the look of satisfaction on my friend's face that I've not been successful.

"Ummm … no," I say with a light laugh. "That hasn't been a problem."

"So, would it be accurate for me to assert that you are sexually active?"

"Yes. That would be a safe assumption."

At this point, Crystal's eyes are full of laughter. She's frazzled me, and she is enjoying every minute of it.

"Mulder and I are working things out," I offer, knowing she will be pleased.

At the mention of his name, her face brightens.

"Oh Dana, I'm so happy to hear that. I always liked him, and … frankly, you were miserable without him. You might have thought that you hid it well, but you didn't. Not really."

"It's … complicated … but we are getting there."

"Good. You look great by the way. No way in hell I'd believe you were 54. Love looks good on you."

"Crystal—"

"Deny it all you want, but it's written all over your face."

"I'm not necessarily denying."

"Well, that, in and of itself is a change."

Snorting, I shake my head at her.

"Given your age and history, I'd like to run some blood work through to see what we are looking at, but my preliminary diagnosis is that you're working too much and not getting enough sleep. Nausea could certainly be stress related … you've got to start slowing down at some point, Dana. You've been burning the candle on both ends for the majority of your career, and your body can only take so much. At some point, it fights back."

"I know."

"I know you do, which makes it worse," she says with a laugh.

We chat about various things as she fills several vials full of blood. Passing them off to the nurse, she goes through the rest of my exam with ease and fills out the remainder of the paperwork required to release me for field work — doing so somewhat begrudgingly.

"I'm going to go check on that blood work. The tech I have back there is pretty quick, so it shouldn't take long, especially since we've had several cancelations today."

Taking my phone out, I catch up on e-mails and contemplate dinner. I haven't talked to Mulder yet this afternoon, so I'm not sure what he has in mind or what time he will back at the house. All I know is that my lunch is long gone, and I'm starving.

As the minutes continue to tick by, I start to wonder if Crystal got caught up with another patient. I've had lab work done here before, and it normally doesn't take this long. I'm in the middle of replying to an e-mail when she comes back in, and I know immediately that something is wrong.

"Crystal? Is everything okay?"

"Well. Nothing is  _wrong_  per se, but there is something you need to see," she says handing me a print off.

I scan through the numbers seeing nothing abnormal until my eyes land on an hCG value. While there are a few things that could cause an elevated hCG level, none of those would apply to me. And given the levels of the other hormones tested, there is only one explanation.

With my hands shaking, my eyes raise to meet hers.

"This can't be right. You and I know both know that this isn't possible."

"Which is why I had her run them again. We got the same results all three times," she says softly. "You're not in the beginning stages of menopause, Dana. You're pregnant."


	13. Keeping Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude between Familiar and Nothing Lasts Forever
> 
> Why Scully keeps the pregnancy from Mulder.

**SCULLY**

_"You're not in the beginning stages of menopause Dana. You're pregnant."_

To say that I'm still in a state of shock would be a vast understatement. I've gone through the motions of completing all that I've taken off work to do, but my mind is elsewhere. As I replay the conversation Crystal and I had in her office earlier today, I can't help but be overwhelmed by the impossibility of it all.

_"Dana, I know this isn't something that either of you was likely expecting, but you're extraordinarily fit and healthy. I have a very good friend and colleague who specializes in high-risk pregnancies …"_

She wasn't wrong. My vitals, blood work, and physical exam all point to this being nothing other than a typical pregnancy — only it isn't. I'm 54 years old and barren. What's occurring inside of my body right now wasn't supposed to be possible 20 years ago, much less now.

As my friend and physician, Crystal knows more about me than most. There is, however, still a tremendous amount that she doesn't know. Because the truth surrounding my alleged infertility is complicated, which is why it comes down to the more intimate details, I've always been more of a closed book.

She knows very little about the true nature of my work with the FBI.

She doesn't know about William.

Once, early in her residency, she asked me if I ever regretted not settling down and having a family. Although it wasn't an unreasonable or overly offensive question, especially for a young student who was trying to find a balance between ambition and family, it still stung. Questions along those lines have always made me uncomfortable. I've never known how to respond.

Mulder and I not being married could never negate what we share, and William not being with us has never made him less.

For years, I secretly longed to have another child, but that desire was always overshadowed by guilt. We were given our miracle, and I gave him away.

I've always viewed the years that followed as my penance.

Although we never discussed having another child, we never made an honest attempt to avoid having another one. It was a silent handshake of sorts … neither of us having the heart to vocalize a desire for something that we could not give the other, which makes the situation I currently find myself in all that much more difficult to process.

I'm not sure how I feel. I want to be elated, but I'm not. I'm absolutely terrified. The impossibility of it brings all sorts of troubling questions to the forefront, and the risks and complications associated with pregnancy at my age are overwhelming.

As a physician, I'm well aware of the odds. After 40, the likelihood of miscarriage, congenital disabilities, and complications climbs significantly. After 50, it rises astronomically.

I want more than anything to tell Mulder, but I can't. Not yet.

The past few months have been … amazing. For the first time in our 25 year partnership, we are talking. Not running, not avoiding, not assuming — actually talking. Which is why, as I sit in my SUV avoiding paint fumes and the cool February air, I find myself at a loss as I flip through the paperwork I collected this morning from my attorney and the bank. Any moment's peace we've ever had has been short-lived. We find our feet, only to have them taken out from underneath us.

Why now? Why not 10 or 15 years ago?

I've failed miserably in protecting the first child I brought into this world, so how can I possibly fathom bringing another one into it? How am I supposed to choose between the child currently growing inside of me and a young man I barely know? And with this happening on the cusp of what we've been told is going to be the end of the world as we know it, is it even possible for me to choose?

Doing my best to distract myself from the dark clouds looming over me, I read through and sign off on the paperwork in front of me, leaving the car only briefly to lock up the house and set the alarm.

When I return, my phone is ringing.

Fearing it's Mulder, I tense. I've avoided calling him because I don't yet trust my voice not to give myself away.

Relief floods through me when I see that it's Crystal.

"Hey."

"Hey, Dana. I managed to catch Valerie. She's willing to see you at 7:30 unless you'd rather wait and schedule something later in the week?"

"No, 7:30 will work," I say, taking a deep breath.

"Dana, are you sure you're alright? I'm worried about you."

"Crystal," I say with an uneasy laugh, "I'm not sure of much of anything right now. This … it's a lot."

"Are you by yourself? Is Mulder with you?"

"No. I haven't … He doesn't know. He's likely still at the office. I had some errands to run … I'm … still processing."

"Do you want me to pick you up?" she asks quietly.

I start to insist that I will be fine, but stop short of uttering the words because the truth is that as much as I would like to be alone … I don't need to be.

I also feel as if I owe Crystal an explanation. While I've never outright lied about my medical history, I've certainly not been forthcoming. She's aware of my infertility diagnosis, but only the Cliff Notes version.

"Yes. I'd like that. And Crystal … there's something I need to talk to you about. Something that I haven't told you that you should know before we go, because I'm going to need a favor … a favor that requires a bit of explanation."

"Okay," she says cautiously. "Well, I am about to head out. Do you want me to meet you at your house?"

"No. It's a mess at the moment. I'm running from paint fumes and sawdust. House fire — long story.

"Okay …"

"How about Mitchell's on 51st? It's normally not overly crowded this time of day."

She readily agrees and says that she can be there in 20 to 30 minutes.

Hanging up, I sigh, resting my head against the headrest and closing my eyes.

It's a little after 5:00 when I pull out of my driveway, hold down the command key, and speak Mulder's name.

He picks up on the second ring.

"Hey, Mulder. It's me."

"Hey. I was just about to call you. What are you thinking for dinner? I'm about done here."

"That's actually why I'm calling. I'm on my way to meet Crystal for dinner."

"Oh … okay. Is everything alright?"

Wincing a bit, I fight to keep my voice level, fearing that he's picked up on something lingering in my voice.

"Yes. Everything's fine. Just catching up."

I'm immediately thankful that he can't see me. He'd know that I was lying if he could.

"Okay. Well, tell her I said hello," he says hesitantly.

"I will."

"So … should I wait for you or …"

"No. Go ahead and head home."

There's a slight, awkward pause that immediately makes me uncomfortable.

"Are you going to … come out or stay in the city?"

Relief and guilt immediately flow through me as I realize that his apprehension has nothing to do with anything he's heard in my voice. He's apprehensive because he doesn't know where I intend to spend the night and feels awkward asking me about it.

He's been hesitant to call our home —  _home._  I told him  _soon_ , and he has respected that, waiting patiently for me to make the final move. It was never my intention for waiting to equate to a game of cat and mouse, and I immediately feel guilty that it has. There's no reason for him to question if we are sharing a bed on any given night.

"It's not quite ready for habitation. It's getting there, but there's still a lot of dust and paint fumes. I'll text you when I'm on my way  _home._ I shouldn't be too late _,_ " I tell him.

The brief silence that follows tells me that he hasn't missed the emphasis I placed on the word  _home_.

With everything else that is currently grey, we cannot afford for our sleeping arraignments to remain one of them.

"Scully—"

"Order some take-out, watch the Knicks, and enjoy the fact that I won't be there to complain that the TV is too loud," I say in an attempt to lighten the conversation and to distract away from the tension I feel building up inside of me.

"Why Scully … have you been going through my scheduled recordings again," he asks in mock horror.

"No. Once was enough," I say with a chuckle. "I know they are playing because I'm listening even when you think I'm not."

"Good to know."

"Well. I'm getting to a point in traffic where I need to really focus and scrap for parking. I'll text you when I head out."

"Try not to shoot anyone."

"Funny."

"Scully—"

"Mulder … I love you, and I'll see you when I get  _home_."

I hang up without giving him a chance to respond, fearing that if I do, I'll lose my resolve and he'll know something is wrong.

I'm a block away from Mitchell's when my phone dings.

" _I love you too,_ " the text reads.

 

* * *

 

"I was about to call and check on you," Crystal says as I approach the isolated table in the back that she's selected.

As predicted, there are very few people inside.

"I was on the phone with Mulder and parking was terrible."

"It usually is this time of day."

"I'm sorry about earlier …"

When I left her office earlier today, I was in a trance. Although I accepted her offer to phone her friend and colleague, I said very little else following the pregnancy revelation.

"It was a lot to take in," she says giving a nod of purpose to the waitress, which I translate to mean that she's already taken the liberty of ordering for us.

Giving her a soft smile of appreciation, I take a deep breath in preparation for gathering myself for the conversation we need to have.

"Before we go tonight, there are a few things you should know. Things that I haven't told you — or anyone. Aside from Mulder."

"Okay," she says cautiously.

"When I told you years ago about my infertility … I mislead you. I've always let you assume that my cancer diagnosis is what lead to my infertility, but that's not true. I was infertile before I ever received chemo or radiation."

"Dana—"

"Please. Just … listen. When we go to see your friend tonight, I'm going to make some very specific requests, and I need you to understand why. I'm going to need to you back me up."

"Dana, I can assure you that Valerie is the best, I wouldn't have recommended her otherwise. You don't owe me any explanation or need my—"

"This isn't my first pregnancy. I had a baby in 2001. A boy."

Of all the things she likely expected to come out of my mouth, this was clearly not one of them. Crystal's ability to conceal her emotions and remained poised even in the most intensely stressful situations has always been something that I've appreciated about her, but now, as she sits in front of me, her jaw is slack.

"Dana … I don't—"

"I never talk about the work I've done outside of medicine … about what I did and continue to do for the FBI. Not candidly. When people ask, I always give them the company line. I tell them that Mulder and I worked and continue to work highly unusual and complex cases … cases that other departments and agencies struggle to solve. What I never tell anyone is how dangerous it is or how much it has cost us. I don't tell them that we exposed people, organizations, and truths so sensitive that people were sent to silence us. I don't tell them that my sister was murdered by someone who was sent to kill me."

"Oh my God … Dana—"

"I don't tell them about the terrifying things that I've seen … things that fall well outside of the known realms of science … things, that had I have not seen them myself, I would have never have believed."

She stills, her face serious and intense, but this time she doesn't try to speak.

I hesitate before I continue, gauging her expression and readiness for what will come next, all the while knowing that there is little I can do soften the words as they tumble out of my mouth.

"I was abducted in 1994. What was done to me during that period is what lead to my infertility, not the cancer treatments."

"Dear God —"

"I don't remember much from that time frame, but shortly after I was found it became clear that things had been done to me. Experiments. Experiments that left me barren. While there is still a great deal that we don't know, what we do know is that there was a genetic basis for the testing that was performed."

"Jesus. I don't … I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry."

I nod my head to dismiss the sentiment. There's no reason for her to be sorry.

"As I've told you before, Mulder and I were partners for a little over six years before we became romantically involved. What I never told you is that we tried in vitro — multiple times — to no avail. I had all but given up on becoming a mother when I found out that I was pregnant with William," I say with a sad smile. "William was our miracle."

"I'm so … so terribly sorry. I had no idea."

"He's not dead Crystal," I say quietly.

Her face registers surprise and then confusion. She starts to speak, but before she can form words, I'm speaking again.

"William was born at a time when things were very … complicated … for both of us."

Pulling out my wallet, I hand her a picture of me holding William.

"I couldn't change what our lives had become, but I could do right by him. He deserved a life that we couldn't give him. Not at that time."

"He's beautiful," she says quietly, tears forming in her eyes as she looks closely at the picture.

"You're probably wondering what this has to do with anything," I say, laughing lightly and shifting uncomfortably.

To this, Crystal says nothing. Handing the picture back to me, she waits patiently for me to continue.

"The genetic testing they performed … it manipulated my genetics and changed me in ways that I still don't fully understand. What they did to me extends beyond the realm of known science — even today's science. The traits I now possess … I passed down to William, which in turn, made him of interest."

"To the people who took you?"

"Yes."

"Did you not report this? Dana, I don't—"

"Those responsible weren't civilians."

"Are you saying that the gov—"

"I know things that it's better you don't. I gave William up for adoption because he was innocent. He didn't deserve to be raised in an environment surrounded by threats and fear. I couldn't protect him. The only way to protect him was to let him go — to hide him."

"Dana, I still don't know that I—"

"Tonight I'm going to request an amniocentesis procedure as opposed to a standard, less invasive method, and I'm going to request that a portion of that sample be released directly to me for additional testing." Before she can speak, I raise my palm lightly to silence her. "I know that my risk for miscarriage is already astronomically high given my age. Less invasive methods of testing would be much safer, but none of the others will provide me with a pure enough sample to answer the questions that I have."

She's silent for a moment before she responds.

"Can you tell me what are you looking for?"

"An anomaly. There were extenuating circumstances surrounding William's conception. Mulder and I have never … We've never used any form of contraception. There has never been any reason for us to believe that conceiving a child was possible, not even after William. This pregnancy is medically impossible Crystal, which is why it's essential that I have it done this way. I have to know if this a miracle from God or if it's something else entirely. Because if it's something else entirely, it's going to be William all over again, and I don't think either one of us can survive that twice. Once nearly killed us — it tore us apart."

"Dana … I really have no idea what to say. I'm sure you can understand how—"

"Insane this all sounds. Yes. Yes, I do. Which is why I've always just let you and everyone else who is somewhat familiar with my medical history assume that my cancer is what caused my infertility."

To this, she sighs.

"I wasn't going to use the word insane."

"Crazy? Ludicrous?"

"No. Not those either. Does Mulder know about tonight?"

"No."

"Does he know about them … about the genetics?" she asks cautiously, choosing her words carefully as the waitress brings out two small sandwiches and two cups of hot tea.

Crystal gives her nod of appreciation but quickly turns attention back to me.

"He knows. He knows everything."

"Then why—"

"I've already taken one child from him," I say quietly.

A heavy silence fills the table as I fight to hold back the tears forming in my eyes.

"When William was born we gave him my last name. Mulder wasn't … safe. Instead of being the father he so desperately wanted to be … he went into hiding … he ran. He wasn't there when I signed our rights away. It was a life-defining moment for both of us, but only one of us was present. That moment bound us forever. It also tore us apart. That's why he's not here. If this child isn't a miracle from God … if it's not healthy and doesn't stand a chance, I won't put him through that. Not again. He's lost enough. We both have. I can't tell him until I'm absolutely sure."

"Dana—"

"I know it's a lot to ask … to process. I know because at one point I was sitting where you are … talking to women with similar stories to mine. It's insanity. It's crazy. It's ludicrous. And that's how they've gotten away with it. It's so improbably ludicrous that it serves to protect itself. But you know me. You've known me for years. I'm asking you to trust me … I'm asking you to help me. This has to be done my way, and it has to be done quietly. Lives depend on it."

After a moment's silence, she reaches across the table, grabs my hand, and squeezes.

"Okay," she says simply.

 

* * *

 

When I get home, I find Mulder on the couch the drinking a beer and watching the Knicks. They're up 2 with 2:32 remaining after being down 15 at the beginning of the 3rd quarter. Even with the heaviness of today's events, I can't help but smile at his excitement.

I don't know a tremendous amount about basketball, but I can tell by how happy he is that this is not a game the Knicks were picked to win. His smile and rushed explanation of what happened in the 3rd quarter are a breath of fresh air, and I'm immediately grateful to whatever planets aligned to make it happen.

Kissing him lightly on the lips, I excuse myself to shower and change clothes.

At the clinic, my resolve wavered as soon as I heard the heartbeat.

It was William all over again.

It was impossible.

It was wonderful.

And it was terrifying.

Stripping down, I turn on the water on as high and as hot as I can stand it, attempting the wash away the sorrow and guilt I feel pooling inside of me.

Had I made a mistake in demanding an amniocentesis?

Everything looked perfect. Nothing at all to indicate any abnormalities. Age aside, it's absolutely perfect.

I'm 54 years old and 11 weeks pregnant.

Crystal and I opted to give Valerie the Cliff Notes version of my medical history when she expressed caution in performing the testing I requested, especially given that I'm only at 11 weeks. Amniocentesis is typically not completed until the second trimester, and even then there are generally abnormal findings that drive that line of testing.

Amniocentesis is, however, a fairly common practice with concern for genetic defects, and William did present with genetic abnormalities. What we told Valerie was misleading, but not an outright lie. Alien DNA is not something that is caught unless you know what you are looking for. It requires a mapping of the entire genome.

The labs Valerie uses will likely tell me the same thing I was told 17 years ago — that everything is perfect. But I didn't know then what I know now, which is why I requested that two samples be taken. One of which, I will analyze myself.

The mere thought of finding what I fear I will find makes me sick to my stomach. Tears prickle in my eyes as I consider the implications. If it is William all over again, can I do it? Can I ask Mulder to do it? Deep in my heart, I already know the answer. As soon as I heard the heartbeat I was in love, but that doesn't make me any less terrified.

A sob escapes me before I can stop it.

"Scully?"

_Shit._

I try to rein it in, but before I can make a move to swallow my cries and speak to reassure him, he's behind me, wrapping his arms around me.

"Scully, what's wrong? What happened?"

At this point, I can't tell him that I'm okay. Not when it's quite clear that I'm anything but.

"I … I told Crystal about William."

It's not a lie, and it's as close to the truth as I'm willing to go.

"Oh."

"It's just too much Mulder," I say as I continue to cry, no longer attempting to swallow my sobs. "How did we get to point in our lives where we can't even tell our closest friends that we have a child because telling them requires an explanation that defies all logic and sounds completely insane?"

"I'm sorry Scully. I'm so sorry."

Turning to face him, I press myself against him and lay my head against his chest, unable to look at him.

"It's not your fault. It's not either of our faults. It's  _them_. It's always been  _them_. And they are still out there, scot-free … doing it to someone else … ruining someone else's life because we quit … because like you said — we let them win."

"Scully—"

"That's on me. I begged you stop. I demanded that you stop because I thought that just living would be enough. But this .… this isn't living. Waiting for the next shoe to drop isn't living. You got that. You got that from the very beginning."

To this he says nothing.

We stand under the warm water in silence for several minutes before I speak again.

"We have to stop them Mulder, and not just for William," I say as I brave looking up into his eyes.

Nodding, he reaches for my body wash and lathers my pouf. I move to help him, but he stops me, reverently running his hands over my body as he washes me. When he moves on to my hair, he pulls me out from underneath the cascade of water and turns me to face away from him so that he can massage my scalp and then my neck before rinsing me.

"Dry off and go lay down on the bed, I'll join you in a minute," he says softly

"Mulder—"

"The oil is under the sink."

"Mulder you don't have to—"

But before I can tell him that I just want to go to sleep his lips are on mine. He doesn't deepen the kiss or run his hands across my body as a prelude to sex. He hands and lips touch me as if I'm made of glass, lightly ghosting over my skin.

"Dry off and go lay down," he says, his lips mere inches from mine.

This time I don't argue.

Giving him a nod I exit the shower, leaving him to finish alone.

I do as he requests, not bothering to dress or cover myself.

Within a few minutes, the bed dips and I can hear him rubbing the massage oil onto his hands. He starts at my neck and shoulders and works his way down, digging into my tense and aching muscles.

I immediately relax, surrendering my body to his hands. At some point, I manage to fall asleep because when I come to, he's gently urging me to move so that he can pull the comforter and sheets down.

Turning off the bedside lamps he joins me, pulling the covers up over us and wrapping his arms around me from behind.

"Thank you."

Removing a strand of hair from my face and placing it behind my ear, he kisses my cheek and rests his head alongside mine.

"You're welcome."

Silence fills the room as we snuggle into each other's embrace.

"I miss my mom," I whisper into the dark. "I wish so badly that I could talk to her."

"I miss her too."

No more words are spoken as we drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it has taken me several weeks to update. Finals were brutal this semester!
> 
> A special thanks to ATTHS_TWICE for giving this an early read and providing feedback!!


	14. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude between Familiar and Nothing Lasts Forever.
> 
> Mulder tries to gauge what is really going on with Scully after finding her sobbing in the shower.

**MULDER**

At some point in the night, our position shifted, because when I wake her body is partially splayed across mine with our arms and legs intertwined in an intimate embrace. Not wanting to disturb her, I lay still, reveling in the light caress of her rhythmical breathing across my chest and the softness of her skin as it brushes against mine. The intimacy of the moment would normally have me at full attention, but the events that have led up to this very moment keep my libido in check and stop me from responding how I would generally respond to a very naked Scully.

One of my deepest fears has always been that her cancer would someday return and that this time, there would be no chip or alien technology to stop it. So when I discovered her sobbing in our shower the night before, that was immediately where my mind had gone.

Her explanation eased my initial fears but gave way to others that were as equally troubling. While there is little doubt in my mind that it was difficult to discuss William with someone who she had admittedly misdirected with half-truths for years, I can't quite dampen the nagging feeling screaming inside of me that there is something else there. Something that she is protecting me from or can't bring herself to tell me. Especially given that we have had several very difficult conversations over the past several months, none of which elicited an emotional response even remotely resembling what I saw in her last night.

As much as I want to wake her and plead with her to talk to me — really talk to me, I refrain from doing so, keeping my hands still and my eyes fixed on her as she sleeps. A silent acknowledgment that her sleeping in my arms is enough for today.

We've both made strides to move forward in a different light and to become better versions of ourselves. For me, that has meant making things less about me. She waited for me to come back to her for years before she finally left. The least I can do is give her a couple of days to process whatever else is weighing on her mind.

As she begins to stir, I brush my lips across the top of her head and then her forehead, running my hands lightly up and down her back.

"Mmmmmm, what time is it?" she mumbles, snuggling deeper into my embrace.

"Before I tell you, you have to promise not to panic."

Raising her head off my chest to look at the clock on my side of the bed, she stills and then snaps to life.

"Mulder! It's after six! I'm supposed to be at the house at 7:00 to let the flooring people in to finish up," she says with mild annoyance, quickly rolling over and moving to get out of our bed.

"Hey, hey …" I say, reaching for and lightly grasping her upper arm. "I can take care of all of that and pick up some breakfast … just … slow down. Take a minute."

Something in my expression settles her, stilling her motion and softening her eyes. Looking at the clock again, she takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and lays back down.

Removing my hand from her arm, I raise the comforter to cover us, rolling to my side so that I can study her expression more closely. I don't mention the night before in hopes that sticking to neutral territory will settle her and put her at ease. Instead, I inquire about the house and why her presence is suddenly required when it hasn't been previously.

"Are you having trouble with the security system again? I thought you had been letting them in remotely?"

"They are having some issues with the wiring. It's supposed to be fixed by the end of the week," she says, raising her arm to allow the back of her hand to rest on her forehead.

Reconstructing her house following the war with the bots has been a much larger project than she had initially anticipated. While the work has been progressing as scheduled, there have been some unexpected complications. Her security system update being one of them.

"Have you considered reverting to a non-smart house and living like the rest of us," I ask her playfully.

"What fun would that be?" she retorts, matching my playfulness with some of her own and rolling to her side to face me directly.

The look of annoyance I saw in her face earlier is gone, replaced with a smirk that does little to encourage my inner gentlemen.

"Are these flooring people usually on time?" I ask her, raising my hand to run my fingers lightly down her arm.

"Typically."

"Hmm … well, that's a shame," I say as I move to press my body against hers with the intention of kissing her lightly on the lips and then exiting the bed. But as soon as our lips meet, I change my mind, rolling her on her back and settling myself more fully on top of her as I deepen the kiss.

"Mmmmm … we don't have time for this," she murmurs against my lips when we part for air.

"They get paid by the hour right," I ask, dropping my lips to kiss her neck and then her shoulder.

"Yes, but I'm already fighting to stay on budget so that I don't have to pay too much out of pocket…"

"Who said anything about you paying?"

"Muld—," she starts to say, but I cut her off, kissing her soundly as my hand lowers to cup her breast.

Arching into me, she moans, bringing her thighs up to rest along my hips, before breaking our kiss and placing her fingers on my lips to silence my objections.

"As much as I'm enjoying all of this attention and … excitement," she says coyly as I continue to brush up against her. "You have enough trouble keeping your hands off of me when I don't smell like sex, and there is no way we are going to have time for a shower given that it's already 6:20 … so … rain check?"

"Mmmm … do you want your usual?"

Raising her brow, she gives me a look that portrays her surprise. At this stage in our relationship, there are just things one knows. There's no longer a need to ask her what she wants or how she wants it. I can tell by the way she touches me and moves against me. She doesn't have to tell me.

But, right now, that's not what I'm talking about.

Laughing lightly at her expression to my intentional misdirection, I kiss the tip of her nose and then brush my lips over hers, teasing her with the motions of my hips and weight of my arousal as I clarify what I'm asking.

"For breakfast Scully — Focus."

"Ahhhh, so that's what you mean," she says softly.

Fighting back a moan, she raises her thighs higher, tightening them and rubbing them sensually against my sides.

"No coffee … orange juice. And a full bagel instead of a half, but other than that, yes, my usual," she says, ghosting her lips over mine before kissing me so deeply and passionately that she takes my breath away.

I can feel the warmth and wetness of her arousal through the fabric of my boxers as she presses and rubs herself against me.

Just as I'm about to insist that we be late, she pinches my side hard enough to make me jump.

Laughing at my shocked expression, she shifts her body and begins to wiggle her way out from underneath me.

"I told you we didn't have time for this," she says, laughter still lingering in her voice.

I'm not sure why I thought I could get away unscathed teasing the biggest tease of all, but I have no regrets. Seeing the large, smug smile plastered on her face now is worth every second of the unsatisfying deflate that awaits me, especially given how upset she was when we went to bed last night.

"Ugh … you tease … that was dirty Scully," I say, joining in on her laughter as I readjust myself in my boxers and unentangle my body from hers.

"You started it, and that wasn't a tease, that was a thank you for last night," she says with a soft smile playing on her lips as she rises and moves to sit on the edge of the bed.

She sits there for a moment, locking her eyes with mine and softening her voice.

"That and this morning was exactly what I needed, so thank you."

Moving to sit behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist, kissing her on the top of her shoulder, her neck, and then her cheek.

"So you're okay?" I ask her, keeping my voice low.

"I am now. Thank you."

"I love you," I whisper into her ear.

"I love you too," she says squeezing my hands as she moves to stand.

"No coffee, though?" I ask, unable to hid my concern as I watch her move across the room and into our bathroom.

"Ah. So you were listening."

"Contrary to popular belief, not all blood goes south, and I can multitask."

"Hmmm …"

"Seriously, is everything alright?"

"Yes. Everything is fine. Crystal has just been on my ass about working too many hours, not getting enough sleep, and drinking too much coffee. She was reluctant to sign my field release, but I promised her I would get more sleep and ease up on the caffeine."

"One cup in the morning would still be easing up. Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive. She's right. I need to start drinking more juices and water."

"Not even decaf?" I ask still struggling with the orange juice request. Although I can't precisely recall the last time I saw her drink orange juice, I know it's been years.

Laughing, she comes back out of the bathroom, this time wearing a robe, as she gathers her clothes for the day.

"No. I think decaf would just piss me off. It'll be fine. Having one cup always leads to another, so I think I'm better off just taking a break from it entirely."

"So you promised no coffee but not reducing your hours? Were you drinking?"

To this, she snorts back laughter and rolls her eyes.

"No. I just try not to make promises that I know I can't keep," she says.

"You don't say … so … that rain check?"

"If you don't get out of that bed and get ready you might not ever find out, Agent Mulder," she says, taking her clothes into the bathroom, closing the door, and locking it behind her knowing good and well that with a comment like, if I could get to her, we'd definitely be late.

"You're killing me, Scully."

"Breakfast, Mulder — _Focus_ ," she says through the closed door causing me to moan and then break out into laughter.

 _Yeah, I deserved that._ God, I love this woman.

Aside from her insistence that she be the one to go to the house, the rest of morning progressed without incident with no hint of the emotion I saw in her the night before, leaving me to wonder if the residual feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach when I first woke up this morning was purely from paranoia.

If it weren't for the coffee, I might have been able to convince myself of that.

Scully has always been a puzzle, even for a profiler, but her aura of mystery still has givens. One being coffee and how she takes it. And not taking it, is not something that has ever ended well for anyone — notably me. I learned very early in our partnership that Scully had morning rules. No mention of aliens, Sasquatch, Kersh, or the flat earth before her first cup of coffee. Of all the rules that have changed in the last quarter of a century, this one has remained non-negotiable.

While I don't doubt that Crystal was on her case about how  _much_  coffee she had been drinking and the long hours she has been working as of late, I do find it odd that she would recommend that Scully abstain completely. Cutting back and completely abstaining are two entirely different things, and it appears that Scully is opting for the latter, which floors me.

And to do so without complaint or seemingly being overly bothered by the change?

That's not Scully at all. It's the exact opposite of how I would expect her to react.

When it comes to certain things, Scully is a creature of habit, so her nonchalance about making such a significant change in her morning routine in combination with the raw emotion I saw in her last night troubles me deeply.

I can't stop thinking about it.

As strange as it may seem,  _coffee,_ of all things, is the reason why the anxiousness and dread I felt when I found her in sobbing in our shower last night hasn't completely wained. It's still there, lurking and waiting because I can't shake the feeling that there is something more. Something that she's not telling me.

The mere possibility of it and what it could imply scares the living hell out of me.

Because now, after everything we've been through and all that has been lost and shared, losing her … I wouldn't survive it. It would kill me. Whatever it is, there has to be an answer because her not being beside me … that will never be an option because I can't fathom a world without her in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to ATTHS_TWICE for giving this an early read and making suggestions.


	15. Tests, Measures, and Sasquatch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude between Familiar and Nothing Lasts Forever
> 
> Scully gets some answers and prepares a surprise for Mulder.

**SCULLY**

Amino samples typically take a week to two weeks to be analyzed even when they are marked as being urgent, so I'm caught completely off guard when Crystal texts me three days later.

> _I have the additional paperwork you requested. Are you in town?_

Assuming that the results would not be back until early next week, if not later, I have been doing my best to distract myself with work and home decorating projects in an attempt to not think too deeply about all of the horrible things that could go wrong, but now, as I sit here staring at the text in front of me, I realize just how inadequately prepared I am for whatever is going to come next.

The mere thought of something being seriously wrong with the life currently growing inside makes me nauseous to the point of situating myself over the trash can between our desk and the wall. Thankfully, the sensation passes nearly as quickly as it comes, which is more than I can say for breakfast this morning.

Resting my head in the crease of my arm along our desk, I close my eyes and breath deeply, praying that Mulder's trip up to the bullpen takes longer than it normally does. This is the last thing he needs to see.

He's already asking enough questions as it is, and if he offers me one more cup of coffee, I might scream.

Just as I'm about to raise and reach for some tissue to wipe the cold sweat from my brow, my cell phone pings again.

> _Everything appears to be in good order, just needs your signature._

A welcomed sense of relief washes over me as I read her words again. Everything appears to be in good order.

 _God bless you, Crystal_ , I think.  _God bless you for knowing how much I needed that second text._

In an attempt to avoid another 'I'm fine' conversation, I slip off my blazer and brace myself to pass off the flush in my cheeks as being a hot flash if Mulder arrives before I'm able to compose myself completely.

Mulder is a lot of things, but a fool is not one of them. He has been watching me like a hawk ever since he found me sobbing in the shower on Monday night. Although he has yet to challenge me on my insistence that I am fine directly, I'm not disillusioned to the fact that I am one troubled observation away from being interrogated. I've done everything I can to reassure him I'm perfectly healthy and that everything is fine, but he's too astute to not pick up on the fact that something is different.

It's impossible to miss the spells of worry that cross his face every time that I insist on drinking water or disappear into the bathroom for thirty minutes at a time.

It's killing me not to tell him the truth — that I'm carrying his child inside of me and awaiting confirmation that this is a miracle from God and not something else.

Not the interference of the smoking man. Not a chip activation. Not an alien DNA mutation.

Just us. Him and me, in a hotel room, reaffirming our love for one another in the most primitive way possible.

Until I can promise him that, I will remain silent because hurting him any more than I already have isn't an option. He's been through enough. We both have.

Standing, I situate my blazer on the back of the chair and grab several tissues from the corner of our desk before making my way to the mini-fridge to grab a bottle of water. As soon as the water touches my lips, I'm immediately relieved by the cooling effect it has on me. Reaching for my phone, I situate myself to sit partially on the corner of our desk as I dab the tissue across my forehead and under my eyes.

_I have the additional paperwork you requested … Everything appears to be in good order._

Crystal's subtle assurance that there is nothing alarming in the results calms me but doesn't entirely settle me. She knew it wouldn't, hence her reference to my signature. She had known that I would want to read through all of the results myself.

Praying she's free to meet me this evening, I text her back.

> _I'm in town. Are you free this evening?_

Given that it's nearly four and typically the busiest part of her day, I'm surprised when she responds immediately.

> _I'm free. Your place or mine?_

It suddenly occurs to me that having Crystal over just might be the perfect solution to another problem I'm currently dealing with. All of the contracted work on the house has been completed, and keeping Mulder away from the house this week without tipping him off to the fact that I'm up to something hasn't been easy. With Crystal's help, I might actually be able to pull off finishing everything tonight.

> _Mine. There are a few things I could use your help with. I have some errands to run but should be home by 6._
> 
> _Ok. I'll swing by Ringo's and pick up our favorites. See you around 7._

Ringo's translates to chicken salad with pecans and cranberries on a butter flaked crescent and home baked potato chips.

I could kiss her because all that is currently at the house is bottled water, various salad dressings, and condiments.

"Is it just me or is it warmer down here than it usually is," Mulder asks in lieu of a greeting as he walks through the door pulling at his suit and tie.

"No. It's most certainly not just you," I say, thankful that I'm not going to have to make an excuse as to why I'm hot.

Oddly enough, the thought that it was just generally warm in our office never even occurred to me. I had naturally assumed that my being uncomfortable was a product of raging hormones and nauseousness and am immediately grateful that this is not the case, at least not entirely.

"There's bottled water in the fridge," I tell him tilting my head towards the mini-fridge as I shoot a final text to Crystal.

> _It's a date._

"I've been given a heads-up that we may be consulted on a case that the local Missing Persons Division is working on," he says as he opens the refrigerator and grabs a water.

My body stiffens at the mention of a new case because I'm not sure what to expect from my body in the coming days, weeks, or months. Keeping my morning sickness under wraps has been challenging enough when working out of our D.C. office. Pushing paper, phone consultations, and e-mail correspondence allow for unquestioned bathroom breaks and a flexible lunch hour. Being out in the field affords no such luxuries.

Hiding my pregnancy from Doggett hadn't been all that difficult because he hadn't known me, and since I had done little to hide my initial disgust and distrust of him, he had given me a wide berth, which, in turn, had allowed me to puke in peace. I was also nearly 20 years younger. Being pregnant and running around toting a gun in my mid-thirties had been ill-advised and risky, but doing so now, in my mid-fifties, would be insanity. The idea that we could somehow end up in a situation that would force me to choose between this child and backing him up scares the hell out of me.

"They've got three bodies down at the state crime lab. All without vital organs. It's dumb luck that they were found, to begin with, but that's another story. The FBI was consulted when one of them was identified as being a missing NYU student."

"Sounds like some sort of black market organ transaction, which is not exactly an X File, Mulder."

"Except for the fact that none of the organs have turned up. And as you are well aware, there is a timetable of viability on each organ, so it's highly unlikely that they are being shipped out of the country with any level of success."

"And organs used for transplants here in the U.S. are tightly regulated, tied directly to the donors," I reply, catching the drift of where he is going with this.

"Precisely, which is why Mike Collins, a former colleague of mine from back in my profiling days, is fairly certain they aren't being sold at all, at least not for the purpose of transplantation. He thinks that it's possible that the organs are being used for something more ritualistic in nature. He has a particular group in mind. One that the FBI has been watching for years. A cult that is rumored to perform radical surgeries and drink their own blood all in the name of longevity. Vampirism with a twist, apparently. They are also rumored to be enamored with teenagers and young adults, runaways in particular."

"As ludicrously interesting as that sounds, I'm still not seeing how this is an X File … Sounds like a job for local authorities, not the FBI."

"This particular group is fluid. Multiple law enforcement agencies are involved at this point. Every time they start to close in, the group moves. Collins believes they have safe havens, but move regularly in order to avoid detection. Harder to connect cases when they cross state lines. None of the bodies found here in D.C. yesterday afternoon were locals. Collins was hoping that you would be willing to take a look at the bodies. The opinion of the state medical examiner's office is that only a highly skilled person or persons could have removed these organs in the manner in which they were removed, which would be a major change of M.O. for the group in question. Raising the question as to whether these bodies are connected with this particular group or not. Either way, Collins wants a second opinion, preferably from someone with a vast amount of experience in dealing with sensitive and usual cases. Naturally, your name came up."

Sighing, I stand, placing my empty water bottle in the recycling bin and taking a seat behind our desk.

"I thought you said that we  _might_  be consulted. This sounds more like we  _are_  being consulted, and by  _we_  I mean  _me_."

Chuckling a bit, he finishes off his water and tosses the bottle towards the bin to join mine, missing.

"Well, it's not exactly a well-kept secret that we are a package deal," he says, diverting my attention away from the bottle on the floor. "Wherever you go, I go. Besides, this file has a blue  _AND_  a green tab."

"Ah. No wonder you're so intrigued."

"I honestly thought you'd jump at the chance to get out of the office, Scully. You hate sitting behind a desk just as much as I do."

"I do … it's just … I'm hoping you didn't make any promises that require any action today. They've finally finished painting the baseboards. The furniture and the rest of the decorative stuff I ordered are set to be delivered this evening, and I invited Crystal over to help me get everything unpackaged, set up, and organized."

The mere mention of Crystal's name completely changes his demeanor. While he's certainly been curious, he has refrained from prying and has asked very few questions about what was specifically discussed or how the topic of our son came up, to begin with. Even now, several days later, I can still see the concern and questions in his eyes. But he's restraining himself from pressing, hesitant to push me into places that I'm not ready to go because that's the new Mulder. The new Mulder waits.

"You know, I wouldn't have minded helping you with any of those things, Scully," he says. His voice is quiet and cautious, but his tone and underlying question are serious.

"I know that," I say, lowering my voice to match his and asking him silently with my eyes to let it got and to not ask too many questions.

He catches my cue but very clearly misreads it as being something more significant and troublesome than what it actually is. His voice is more chipped and curt when he replies.

"So, I take this to mean that you won't be coming home tonight?"

"No, likely not, but I'll make it up to you tomorrow night."

The disappointment in his eyes and slump in his shoulders breaks my heart but telling him that I haven't asked him to help because I don't want him to see the house until it is finished would tip him off to the fact that I am doing something different and ruin the surprise.

Monday's appointment has certainly not helped matters. After an amniocentesis, abstaining from sexual intercourse for several days is recommended to decrease the likelihood of miscarriage or complications. Last night the sexual tension rose to a level where it could no longer be ignored and ended with him coming in my mouth before he could insist on finishing elsewhere. But now, as I look at the expression on his face, I fear that my playfulness in thwarting off his advances in combination with me sneaking off to puke and play home decorator has put him too close to the edge. The man I'm looking at now is a man who fears that something is very wrong, and I can't let that be how he leaves.

"I know we haven't talked a lot about what was said over dinner, but I dumped a lot on Crystal on Monday. She's been a good friend to me, Mulder. And I mislead her and in some instances outright lied to her — for years. She deserves more than one dinner as an explanation. I need to spend some time with her, even if it's under the guise of a home decorating project."

"I don't mean to sound insensitive, but Crystal's well-being is not my primary concern."

The intensity I see churning behind his eyes immediately gives me pause. It's not forceful or intimidating. It's soft and desperate in a way that takes my breath away. He's looking at me as if I am the only thing he sees — the only thing that matters.

Standing, I walk around the desk to situate myself to stand in front on him. Not once breaking our eye contact.

"For so many years all of the things that I loved and treasured were left unspoken. All of them hidden and tucked away as if it they were dirty little secrets. Our son. Us. All of it. I can't live like that anymore. Not if things are going to be different than they were before. I need this. I need time with her to be what I never felt like I could be before."

"And what's that," he asks quietly.

"Me."

He holds my gaze as he stands and raises his hand to caress my cheek, pulling me into his embrace and running his fingers through my hair and along the expanse of my back as he whispers into my hair.

"Promise me you'll call before bed."

"I promise."

With that, he pulls away, kisses my forehead, retrieves his coat, and leaves to make the trek to Farrs Corner alone.

 

* * *

 

Arriving home earlier than planned, I have been funneling my nervous energy into the new aquarium that now occupies the far corner of the living room. I had forgotten what a royal pain in the ass they could be, but alas, here I am wrestling with little fish in bags, hair grass, and Sasquatch, rocking out to Gnarls Barkley's  _Crazy_. Since I'm short, settling the grass, pebbles, moss, and scenery at the bottom of the aquarium has required me to stand on a step stool in an awkward position, which is exactly what I'm doing when the doorbell rings.

"Mute music, Ahab," I say as I step off of the stool and reach for the towel.

Every time I speak to my automated home manager, I can't help but smile and think of my father.

Activating the security panel, I confirm that it's Crystal before I open the door.

"Hey, sorry," I say, greeting her. "You caught me right in the middle of filling the aquarium."

"Aquarium?"

"Yeah, after the fire, I decided to change up the decor a bit," I tell her.

Giving her a brief side hug, I grab the take out bags from her hand to free her up to remove her coat.

"Thank you," she says, taking a moment to look around as I set the bags on the counter.

Nodding her head towards the entry of the living room, she gives me a soft smile and drapes her coat over the back of one of the barstools.

"So … robots? Robots burned your house down?"

She had called earlier to confirm what I wanted for dinner, and the conversation had ended with me admitting that robots were the source of the home reconstruction project.

"A smart house malfunction, so yes, in essence, robots blew up my living room."

"Interesting," she says, walking fully into the living room to investigate.

"Wow … This  _is_  different. Rustic and leather? Not going to lie, this surprises me a little."

"It's not really for me."

"Ah. I see, does Mulder know that you are doing all of this?" she asks, looking over her shoulder at me with a knowing smirk.

"No. It's a surprise. Now wipe that smirk off of your face and help me with the fish so we can eat."

"I'm going to assume that these aren't for you either," she asks as she rolls up her sleeves and shoos me away from the step stool.

"You'd be correct."

"I had assumed as much as soon as I saw the floating spaceship and the Sasquatch peeking out of the grass. Nice touch by the way."

Snorting back a laugh, I fight rolling my eyes.

"It's been over 15 minutes," I say, nodding to the bags floating at the top of the aquarium. "So they should be acclimated by now."

Reaching for the bag, I begin the process of untying the bags and freeing the fish.

"What are they?" she asks as she starts to do the same.

"Mollies."

"You know, I'm normally pretty good at pegging people, but I wouldn't have pegged either of you as being fish people," she says, each of us releasing one more fish as we meet in the middle.

"He's had fish ever since I've known him. I've always been more of a dog person, but as much as I work and travel it wouldn't be fair to the dog. Fish haven't necessarily been our preference, they've just been what has worked."

Putting the lid on the aquarium, I turn on the light and then stand back admire my handiwork. The floating spaceship has a spotlight that changes colors as it moves about, illuminating the tall grass and Sasquatch. It's exactly how I had envisioned it and it's absolutely perfect. I start to ask Crystal what she thinks, but when I turn to ask, I find her admiring one of the framed pictures on the mantle. It's a copy of the same picture Mulder has in our bedroom at home. The one he caught me admiring the night he brought me home from the hospital.

"This is a good picture of the two of you," she says, placing it back on the mantle.

I don't disagree. From the moment I saw it on my bedside table that first night back home, I was enamored by it. There's no way to look at it and deny the love shared between us. It radiates off of both of us to the point of being blinding. But telling her the backstory to how we came to have those ridiculous grins on our faces would make us both blush, so instead of elaborating, I just comment generally.

"One of the few vacations we took."

"Florida?" she asks.

"Yes. The Keys."

"I remember that. We were all shocked when you took two whole weeks off," say says with a laugh.

"Downtime is not something that I've ever known what to do with," I admit.

"Is this … ?" she asks as she picks up the next frame.

"Our son. William."

Nodding, she smiles sadly.

"He's beautiful, Dana. He has your eyes, but that smile … that's all Mulder."

It's one of the pictures I took from his room — the one of him standing up in his crib and smiling at the camera. I had considered putting one of the others out but had ultimately decided against it. Having an older picture of him would invite more questions about my contact with him and the nature of our relationship, and I'm not sure that I'm ready for that yet. And even if I were, I'm not sure how I would explain our connection or method of communication.

Placing the frame back on the mantle Crystal side-steps me and turns her attention back to the aquarium.

"That's hilarious," she says, snorting back a laugh at the illuminated Sasquatch hidden in the tall grass.

"I thought so too."

"Mmmmm …. So … when is he moving in?"

"All of the essentials are already here, so I guess you could argue that he already has. But this isn't home. It's just convenient."

"Ah, so when did you move back in?"

"I technically haven't."

" _Technically_?"

"I've been living there, but I technically haven't moved in."

"Is there a difference?"

"I think so."

"But all of your essentials are there?"

"Mmmmm …"

And then we both laugh.

"I had to. You walked right into that one," she says, still laughing.

"That I did. Hungry?"

And with that, we make our way into the kitchen where we sit at the bar and chat as we eat our sandwiches. The fact that she hasn't mentioned her earlier texts or offered me the results hasn't escaped my attention, but it doesn't worry me. It makes me appreciate her all that much more. Not knowing where I am or what I am currently feeling, she is allowing me to set the pace, knowing that I will tell her when I'm ready.

After we finish eating, she helps me hang curtains and move the furniture around to accommodate the area rug I purchased yesterday. Taking a look at our handiwork, we both smile.

"I think he's going to love it, Dana."

"That's the plan. He knows I'm planning to keep the house so that we won't have to spend two to three hours on the road every day during the workweek, but he doesn't know anything about any of this."

"Well, it certainly has a more masculine feel now."

"That was the goal … to make it more … us …. so I appreciate you helping me finish it up."

"Anytime, but I should get going, it's getting late."

"And we both have early mornings," I say with a nod as I walk with her to the kitchen.

When we reach the bar, she grabs her coat, pulls out out a plain white envelope, and hands it to me.

"For whenever you are ready," she says kindly, giving me hug."If you ever want to talk … or need anything, you know where to find me."

"Thank you so much. I don't know how I'm ever going to be able to repay you."

"You owe me nothing, Dana. Absolutely nothing."

Giving her another hug, and fighting back tears I see her out, closing the door and locking it behind her as she exits.

 

* * *

 

I called Mulder immediately after Crystal left. He answered on the second ring, but I could tell by his voice that I had woken him up. _The couch strikes again_ , he had joked, causing us to both to laugh. We have a running joke that the couch in our living room possesses magical powers. We can toss and turn for hours in our bed upstairs, but the moment we sit on that couch, we are out like lights. Discussing the couch and its alleged power of sleep hypnosis had broken the ice. Hearing the playfulness and affection in his voice had immediately calmed me. In light of everything else, sneaking around and being evasive about the house in order to get it finished without ruining the surprise hasn't been easy. We don't talk long because we're both exhausted and it's late. Ending the conversation with I love you and a promise of an early breakfast, I hang up the phone and then stare at the envelope in my hand.

Needing some time to gather myself, I opt to take a shower and ready myself for bed in order to work up the courage I will need to look through the results. While Crystal's earlier texts have reassured me that there are no medical anomalies present, I still can't help but feel anxious because I know exactly what the testing consists of and what information I can expect to see in the results. When I open that envelope, the being inside of me will no longer have an aura of mystery.  _It_  will have a genetic profile and sex.  _It_  will be real, and I'm not sure that I'm ready for that. But the sense of responsibility I feel for whatever is to come drives me forward. Whatever is inside of this envelope, I have to face, not just for me but for us.

I stall as long as I can, drying my hair and rubbing lotion into my skin from head to toe, but when I enter the bedroom and see it illuminated under the light that runs alongside my bedside table, I know it's time.

Opening it, I scan through all of the information with experienced and knowledgeable eyes. As Crystal promised, everything is as it should be. The child growing inside of me is perfectly healthy. There is nothing whatsoever to indicate a problem of any kind. That, in and of itself is a relief, but it's not what brings tears to my eyes.

What brings tears to my eyes is the DNA analysis.

99.9% match to the sample I provided.

And when I read the last bit, I lose it. Curling up in the center of my bed, I bring the papers to rest over my chest and cry.

It's a girl.

Mulder and I are having a little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to ATTHS_TWICE and admiralty for their edits and advice on this chapter. You guys are the BEST!!


	16. COTP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11x09 - Nothing Lasts forever: The conversation on the pew (COTP)
> 
> This chapter includes lines taken directly from X Files episodes 11x09 (Nothing Lasts Forever). No copyright infringement intended. All duplication is strictly for the purpose of remaining canon with the X-Files mythology and overall storyline. Direct quotes can be found in bold. Credit: X-Files writers and FOX.

**MULDER**

It's nearly two and the bagel Scully and I split at the airport this morning is long gone, but my stomach's objections have done little to deter me from wrapping up this consult so that Scully and I can be back in D.C. by nightfall. With that goal in mind, we split up in order to cover more ground, but now, as I walk alongside the bustling streets of New York City, I wish that I would have insisted otherwise.

Scully is beyond capable. She's brilliant, and if I'm honest, she's a better shot that I am. But that hasn't stopped me from worrying, especially in light of recent events. The nights Scully and I spend apart are now few and far between, but when she's away, I never sleep in our bed because waking up without her takes me back to a dark place where we remained for far too long.

Her absence absolutely shredded me. I barely bathed, ate or slept, and when I did manage sleep, I was plagued with nightmares of losing her and never seeing her again. On those nights, I woke up sobbing, clinging to the pillow she left behind. I refused to wash it for months, but, eventually, her scent was replaced with mine, fleeing just as she did. I've never told Scully any of this because I know how it would make her feel, and she doesn't deserve to feel guilty.

After our conversation in the office yesterday, it occurred to me with sobering clarity that Scully had never introduced me to any of her friends. Not because she was ashamed of me or of us, but because our work had isolated her to the point where all she had was me. Her love and devotion to me had imprisoned her with secrets and anguish, and now, for the first time in nearly twenty-five years she was opening herself up to be something more than just mine.

So instead of telling her that I had tossed and turned all night on the couch, I told her that I had missed her but had slept well because I didn't want her to feel guilty. I want her to have friends. I want her to have the life she has always deserved, but she hasn't been entirely herself since I found her crying in the shower earlier this week. Her spending time with Crystal hasn't bothered me in the least, but the idea of her being an hour away and spending the night alone had bothered me tremendously. What if she had another seizure? What if something she and Crystal talked about triggered another crying spell, and I wasn't there to comfort her? What if the syndicate sent another assassin and I wasn't there to protect her?

Scully insists that she's fine, and at times, she covers so well that I almost believe her. But there is something there. Something that she's not telling me either because she thinks she's protecting me or because she can't find the words. Perhaps even a combination of the two. Either way, the implications trouble me beyond measure. The fact that I haven't seen any bloody tissues in the trash has comforted me to a certain degree, but it has yet to quiet the uneasy turning of my stomach that continues to scream that something is not as it should be.

I would be more inclined to be paranoid that she was distancing herself from me if it weren't for the intensity of the intimacy that we have shared over the past several months. Initially, I had been hesitant to initiate sex in fear of being rejected or giving her the wrong idea, but Scully has made it a point to reassure me that she desires and craves my touch, absolving any hesitancy on my part by taking my hands in hers and placing them on various parts of her body. Lately, she's directed me to pay a lot of attention to her breasts, for which I have been happy to oblige. She's been insatiable and certainly hasn't been exhibiting the behavior of a woman looking for an exit, but she also hasn't clarified her intentions or committed to coming home.

Knowing what I have put her through and how much better she actually deserves, I have refrained from pressing her, but the mixed signals I am receiving from her are frustrating. On the one night that I did press her to come home, she had promised me  _soon_  and silenced my objections with her lips and body. Her promise of  _soon_  has made her decision to keep the smart house all the more confusing.

I had assumed that she would put the house on the market following the repairs, but she's made it clear that she's going to keep the house for the sake of convenience. While I do have to admit that having a place in D.C. has been nice on the nights that we have worked late or have come in on a later flight, her insistence of keeping it has left me to wonder if  _convenience_  is actually her primary reason. Is she just genuinely tired of spending two to three hours on the road every day? Or is she keeping the house because she fears she will need an escape pod when I fuck up again? If that's the case, there's certainly no denying that her concerns have merit, especially in light of everything that I have put her through, but that doesn't make the insinuation hurt any less.

I've been waiting for the right opportunity to broach the topic, but I'm not sure where to start or what to say. It's difficult to have that kind of conversation with someone you want so desperately, yet know that you don't deserve.

When I look down at my watch, I note that it's now after two. Scully had accompanied the bodies to the medical examiner's office and set out to see if she could track down the missing organs while I ran some background on the surgeon and his accomplice. Since I've just about finished up and still haven't heard from her, I text her.

> _"What's your status?"_
> 
> _"I'll be another 30 minutes."_

Since the information she set out to find wasn't something easily searched, I'm not necessarily surprised that she's been caught up. Searches of that nature and autopsies take a lot more time than background checks and Dark Web sweeps. The idea that she could have possibly uncovered something that would link the crime scene here in NYC to the others and keep us here overnight immediately fills me with dread.

> _"What have you found?"_
> 
> _"Nothing of importance. We can discuss it over lunch."_

Given that Scully was not particularly enamored by the idea of spending a day or more in NYC consulting on this case to begin with, I'm surprised to hear that  _nothing of importance_  is holding her up. She's always quick to excuse herself and her expertise when it's no longer needed. She made it quite clear earlier this morning that she did not believe that this was an X-file and had been just as eager to divide and conquer so that we could wrap this up and go home. So if there was  _nothing of importance,_  what was holding her up? Curious, I text her back. 

> _"Everything OK?"_
> 
> _"Yes. Everything is fine. I'll see you in 30."_

Opening my location app, I expect to find her at the medical examiner's office or police headquarters, but she's not. She's three blocks away at St. Joseph's Church. This discovery immediately puts me on edge.

Scully had mentioned attending mass earlier this morning when we were boarding our flight. It's something that she has done fairly regularly since her mother passed away. But to my knowledge, she has never gone more than once a week, much less twice in one day.

Unable to rein in the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I change my course and start to head in the direction of the church. While it's entirely possible that she's following up on a lead she uncovered in my absence, my gut tells me that's not the case, which is troubling considering that she seemed perfectly normal when we parted ways at the crime scene earlier this morning.

As I arrive on the steps of St. Joseph's Church, I'm unsure of what to do. My ability to track her phone is not a secret. She shares the same capability and frequently uses it when she unable to reach me, but that doesn't make my sudden appearance feel any less like an intrusion. Had she have wanted me to accompany her, she would have asked. But the gnawing ball of dread in the pit of my stomach won't allow me to remain outside, so I text her under the guise of having a lead and tell her that I'm on my way to meet her.

She reads my text but doesn't reply.

Unsure of how she will respond to my sudden appearance, I come in with a light, and playful tone that doesn't at all represent my state of mind.

 **"Well, I didn't burst into flames when I crossed the threshold, so I guess they really do forgive a lot,"**  I say playfully as I move to stand beside her as she lights the last few prayer candles.

To my surprise, she doesn't appear to be bothered by my intrusion, but she also doesn't entertain my humor and wastes no time getting to the point.

**"In the past twenty-four hours, there have been twelve liver transplants in a four-hundred and fifty-mile radius. All of the donors have been accounted for."**

**"Well, I checked the Dark Web, there are no organs for sale in this region. But the dead surgeon, uh …"**  his name is on the tip of my tongue, but I can't quite recall it or read it on the small screen of my phone without my glasses.  **"Doctor … oh, God, help me,"**  I say as I shift to reach into my coat pocket for my glasses

Catching Scully's expression at my choice of words, I immediately apologize.

 **"I'm sorry,"**  I say, putting one of my hands up in a gesture of apologetic surrender as I put on my glasses.  **"Rednon, Dr. David Rednon, had his medical license revoked for over-prescribing opioids to the Bratski King drug dealers and the Russian mob. And the kid who was with him was a street-level gangster."**

**"I think we should hand this over to the NYC Organized Crime Division, Mulder. I don't think this is an X-file."**

I don't disagree and am immediately relieved that she hasn't uncovered anything that would require us to remain in NYC overnight. The similarities between the bodies found in D.C. yesterday and those found here in NYC early this morning are eerily similar in terms of skilled extraction, but aside from that, there is little to link the cases. Normally, I am the first to jump to what Scully often refers to as  _extreme possibilities_ , but even I have to admit that this case appears to be just as Scully called it earlier this morning — organ trafficking and exacted revenge.

She's right. This is a matter for the NYC Organized Crime Division. This isn't an X File.

 **"I'm going to need some time here. I can meet up with you later, or you can wait for me,"**  she says.

Her smile is warm and calm. Nothing in her body language portrays distress. If anything, she appears to be at peace … reflective even. On some level, that calms me, but it also perplexes me. As I make my way to the row of pews on the other side the sanctuary and take a seat, I can't help but wonder what brought her here to begin with.

To my knowledge, there is nothing significant about today's date, and there was nothing that I noted in her behavior earlier this morning that indicated to me that she was upset or distressed. In an attempt to calm my nerves and avoid overanalyzing and making myself crazy, I try not to think too deeply about why we are here as I wait patiently for her finish.

As the minutes tick by, curiosity strikes, driving me to flip through the Bible located on the back of the pew in front of me in search of verse posted on the wall. Not being someone who is well acquainted with the scripture or the formatting of it, it takes me a moment to find the verse, but when I do, I am surprised to see that it is a match to the phrase that was found on the organ cooler outside of the emergency room early this morning.

Although it's possible that it's merely a coincidence, I highly doubt that it is. A stake through the heart is quite symbolic, and now, after having discovered the phrase's likely origin, I'm even more convinced that my earlier conclusion is correct. The stake driver is a family member or close friend of one abducted victims. The killer they will be looking for is religious and quite possibly even member of this church.

When Scully comes to sit beside me, her soft smile tells me that she is both touched and surprised that I have remained seated inside of the church and even more surprised to find me with a Bible in my hand. It shouldn't hurt me that she seems surprised, but it does. I would walk through the gates of hell for her and give my life for hers in a heartbeat. I would wait for her anywhere. All she has to do is ask. Does she not recognize that? Does she honestly have no idea?

I may not believe in God or understand the foundation of her faith, but I have never discouraged it nor have I ever faulted her for practicing something that has clearly given her comfort and peace of mind.

She doesn't say thank you, but she doesn't have to. Her appreciation is written in her expression.

We sit in silence for a few moments before I squeeze her thigh and point out what I discovered as I was waiting.

**"Look at this, Scully. Today's scripture, Roman's 12:19 … 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.' That was on the organ cooler."**

**"Well, it's a common biblical passage."**

I had assumed as much, but I can't shake the feeling that the verse is somehow connected to this case.

 **"Did I ever tell you how I came to believe in God?"**  she asks.

It's not the shift in the discussion that I was expecting, but it's welcomed. I have often wondered what sold Scully on God. Everything else required hard scientific proof, yet her belief in God has remained steadfast even in the wake of everything that she has lost and all she has seen.

**"No."**

**"When my brother, Charlie, was a baby, he got seriously ill. I think I was about four. I later learned that it was rheumatic fever … Every night, Mom would tell us to get on our knees and pray for his recovery."**

**"Your prayers were answered. He lived,"**  I say.

**"Only, after the first couple of nights, I wasn't praying for him. I was praying for a puppy."**

We both share a laugh. Her admission is so pure, so rich and so unexpected that I find myself unable to wipe the smile off of my face.

**"And we got one that Christmas. I thought God had performed a miracle."**

I had expected some type of profound moment of reckoning, but her foundation of faith had been quite simple all along. Scully believed because she wanted to believe. She believed because her faith brought her joy as opposed to pain. The truths I sought, however, had only ever brought her pain.

**"I finally know why I'm not Christian, Scully. My parents never got me a puppy."**

Sharing a laugh, we settle into the pew as she reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze, both of us admiring the beautiful stained glass at the front of the church.

Unable to stand it anymore, I brave prodding her for the purpose of her visit in an attempt to get her to talk to me about what has been weighing on her.

 **"So, are you praying for another miracle now?"**  I ask her quietly.

**"I don't know if I believe in miracles, but I do know the power of faith. I saw it in my mom, the strength that she received. I could use some of that strength now … I need what you have … you always bear North, Mulder … no matter which way or how hard the wind blows against you."**

Given that fact that I am the one who crumbled under pressure, I find her confession to be ironic.

Scully is the strongest person I have ever known, but she's also not wrong. Much to my detriment, when I'm focused, I don't blink. I'm immovable. Hearing that she longs for the same trait breaks my heart because I know what being unmovable has cost me. But if there is anything that therapy and years of delving into the darkness have taught me, it's that there is little to be done about what is in the past. I've done my best learn from it and make peace with it, but I can't change it.

"Some of the greatest joys in life come from following the wind, Scully," I tell her as I turn to face her more directly.

"Hold onto your faith … You don't need what I have, you need what she had," I say as I nod my head towards her hand, resting my hand over hers and rubbing my thumb over Maggie's quarter medallion. "She always knew when to bear north and when to follow the wind."

"Mulder—"

"Bearing north pushed me forward, Scully, but that's all it did.  **I think all I have … all any of us have are the results of all of the choices we've made. And at the end of the day, we just hope that we made the right one,"**  I tell her.

While I can't be certain, I am inclined to believe that she has William on her mind. Putting him up for adoption had nearly killed her. She was never quite the same after that.

We both have our regrets, but we can't continue to live in them. To move forward, we have to find a way to forgive ourselves and move beyond the past that has entrapped us.

"Don't let them take it, Scully."

She turns to look at me, questioning me with her eyes and tilting her head to the side.

"Your faith … your beliefs … your prayers for miracles. They've taken enough. Don't give them that too," I say to her softly.

Tears form in her eyes, but there is also a light within them that I haven't seen in a very long time — a soft, yet intense, glow in combination with an aura of mystery and adventure. I saw it in her twenty-five years ago when we first met, and all these years later, she still has it.

She says nothing as she scoots closer to me, taking my hand in hers and laying her head against my shoulder. There is still something there. Something that she's not telling me, but now, sitting in a church pew with others present isn't the time to broach the topic. But as she rests her head and body against mine and softly rubs circles over my thumb with her own, I make myself a promise. As soon as we get home, I'm going to press because I love her and whatever it is that she is facing, no matter how difficult or painful, is not something that I am going to allow her to continue to face alone. From this point on, we move forward together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to ATTHS_TWICE and admiralty for their suggestions and edits on this chapter. You guys are the BEST! And as per usual, I apologize for the delay in posting! Sometimes the writing process flows, other times it does not. Thank you for following and for your patience. :)


	17. A + B = C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11x09 - Nothing Lasts Forever: What does Scully whisper to Mulder?
> 
> This chapter includes lines taken directly from X Files episodes 09x16 (William) and 11x09 (Nothing Lasts Forever). No copyright infringement intended. All duplication is strictly for the purpose of remaining canon with the X-Files mythology and overall storyline. Direct quotes can be found in bold. Credit: X-Files writers and FOX.

**SCULLY**

Had it not have been for several decades worth of trash, the fall I took yesterday would have likely killed me. The incident was eerily similar to what had happened to Dakota Whitney back in 2008. Mulder didn't mention her by name or make any direct references to that dreadful night, but he didn't have to for me to know where his mind has gone. At the scene, he had maintained his calm exterior, directing local officials and completing the necessary paperwork with practiced ease, but behind the closed doors of our hotel room, his resolve had crumbled.

I had been ill-prepared for the tears that pooled in his eyes as he undressed me and searched my body for bruises and lacerations. Up until that point, I had managed to keep my own emotions and fears in check, but seeing how deeply my fall had affected him shifted something within me as well. He could have lost me. He could have lost both of us.

The mere thought of him finding out about his child as he stood over my body in the morgue had been enough to make me physically ill. Having buried him eighteen years ago with a brain disease that he had kept from me, I am all too familiar with how devastating a secret can be. With that in mind, I had nearly caved as he bathed me and put me bed, but when I had opened my mouth to speak, no words had come. How was I supposed to tell him? How could I possibly explain it, and how could I possibly assure him that everything was going to be okay and that she was going to completely healthy and normal when I couldn't even convince myself of those things?

Had it not have been for the warmth and comfort of his body molded against my own, I likely wouldn't have slept at all, but the reassurance of his touch and feel of his breath against my skin had eventually lulled me to sleep.

This morning, I woke up stiff and sore, but all things considered, I appear to have gotten off easy.

The fact that I have yet to experience any cramping, spotting, dizziness or an increase in nauseousness has somewhat reassured the doctor inside of me that everything is as it should be, but going on intuition alone with such a high-risk pregnancy would be foolish. With everything that is at stake, I don't have the luxury of being able to make assumptions, so I text Crystal as soon as Mulder and I land in D.C. to see if it would be possible for her to see me before the end of the day.

If the situation weren't so dire, it would be comical. Never in a million years would I have dreamed that making an appointment for an ultrasound would be the most difficult, covert task that I would ever undertake in my career as an FBI agent. Texting with Crystal as of late has been an odd game of  _Taboo_. No words related to pregnancy or baby have ever been used, yet I'm due to meet her at her office at four for an ultrasound.

I had expected to meet some resistance when I made my move to leave the office early under the guise of running a few errands, but for once, Mulder's benevolent protectiveness is working in my favor. Well aware of the fact that I was sore and still somewhat frazzled by yesterday's events, he had insisted on attending the debriefing with Collins and taking care of our semi-annual financial review alone, which, in turn, had left me alone in our office for a good portion of the afternoon and allowed me to slip out of the office without playing  _20 Questions_.

Having left the office earlier than planned, I now have plenty of time to ensure that everything is in place for tonight. When I arrive at the smart-house, I roll in our carry-ons and turn off the alarm before retreating into the bedroom to use the restroom and change into something a little more comfortable. Since the weather has been finicky and my clothes are starting to fit a bit more snuggly, I take the time to pack some additional clothing so I will have everything that I need for the weekend and early next week. As I go through my closet and drawers in search of clothing that is tailored to fit me a bit more loosely, I can't help but smile at the fact that they are both nearly half empty.

Making my way into the kitchen, I grab a yogurt from the fridge but stop short of opening the drawer for a spoon when I see a handwritten sticky note on the edge of the bar. For a moment, I'm startled but then quickly settle when I realize who it's from. I had forgotten that I had asked Paula to come in yesterday to vacuum, dust, and feed the fish.

_Love the changes that you've made. Your mother would be pleased._

_-Paula_

Tears cloud my vision as run my fingers across her words. My mother had adored Mulder and had loved him as if he had been her own son, which is something Paula had known all too well. When I had called her several days ago to let her know that the remodel was complete and that she was clear to come back this week, I hadn't considered how to she would react to the changes I had made, but as I stand here now, I feel foolish for not having done so. Paula had known my mother for nearly three decades and had been one of her closest friends and confidants. When she had disclosed to me last year that she was struggling financially and had been cleaning houses for extra money, I had asked her if she would be interested in helping me keep up the house and on occasion pick up groceries for me when I was working long hours. I've always paid her well, but have never been under the illusion that she just took the job for the money. There was little doubt in my mind that being close to me had made her feel closer to my mother, who I know she misses terribly.

To my knowledge, Paula has never met Mulder, but she clearly recognized him and perhaps even William in the pictures that are now tucked in various places throughout the house.

I'm torn between smiling and crying hysterically because Paula is absolutely right. My mother would be pleased. Were it not for the pregnancy hormones, I may have managed to just smile, but as I make my way into the living room, I'm struck by a deep sadness that settles deep into my gut and weakens my knees to the point where I am forced to settle myself on the couch as tears stream down my face. Placing the note on the coffee table, my eyes settle on the framed pictures that now line the mantel. I hadn't just taken William from Mulder. I had taken him from my mother as well. The realization that she won't have the opportunity to meet the young man that he has become, or get to meet the little girl currently growing inside of me is like a knife to my heart.

Unable to stop the sobs that come from my mouth, I lean over and grab several tissues from the kleenex box on the end table, blow my nose, and sink deep into the couch, closing my eyes in an attempt to calm myself as I dot the tissues around my eyes. I miss my mother terribly and wish more than anything that she could be here with me now. She had always known exactly what to say. Mulder wasn't wrong when he told me that I needed more of what she had. It was going to take strength like hers to face what was coming next.

Rising from the couch, I feed the fish and take one last look around the living room to ensure that everything is in place before I return to the kitchen.

No longer hungry, I place the yogurt back into the fridge and open one of the cabinets below the bar to retrieve the paperwork prepared by my attorney and the bank. Thumbing through it quickly to ensure that everything is in order, I return to the living room and slide the large envelope between the aquarium and the cabinetry before retreating back into the bedroom to check my makeup. The last thing I need is to show up at Crystal's office looking as if I have been crying all afternoon. Although I have not spoken to her directly, her concern was not difficult to discern, even through text messages. She knows that something has happened but does not know the specifics. I've done my best to reassure her and myself that everything is fine but with the fall I took yesterday, there is a possibility that it's not, and I won't be able to rest easy or tell Mulder about the baby until I'm absolutely sure.

I had texted her when I left the office to let her know that I managed to successfully extract myself from the basement and that I would see her at four, but she had not responded.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I dab tissues around my eyes to even out the makeup that my tears washed away. The waterproof mascara and eyeliner I'm wearing are still in place, but my eyes are bloodshot and my contacts feel dry and sticky. Washing my hands, I take out my contacts, rinse them in solution and roll them around on my fingers to remove the film that my tears left behind before putting them back in. Reapplying some powder to my nose, I brush my teeth and run my fingers through my hair before shutting off the lights in the bathroom and gathering my phone, keys, and wallet.

I'm in the process of setting the alarm and walking out the door when Crystal texts me.

> _"Are you still coming? Has something happened?"_

I'm confused for a moment until I scroll up and see that message that I sent her before I left the office never went through.  _Damn Basement._

> _"Yes, I'm about to head that way now. I'm sorry to have worried you, I didn't realize that my last message failed to send._
> 
> _"Are you sure that everything is OK?"_
> 
> _"I think everything is fine. I'm just erring on the side of caution."_
> 
> _"What happened?"_

She hadn't asked before either because she had been busy seeing patients or thought I wouldn't answer her through text, but she's asking me now.

I hesitate for a moment before I reply.

Given what happened with my previous pregnancy and the sensitive nature of this pregnancy, Crystal has become accustomed to our written exchanges being covert. But now, as I'm getting into my car, I realize that I may have been too vague. Although I can't see her, I can feel her anxiety through the text and immediately feel guilty for worrying her, especially when my gut is telling me that everything is fine and that the baby wasn't harmed by my fall.

> _"I fell, but I think I'm OK. Just need the all-clear on paper so that I can return to the field."_
> 
> _"Define falling. Sidewalk? Stairs? Were you attacked?"_

Realizing that she's not just going to let this go, I decide to just put it out there. With any amount of luck, the twenty minutes it will take for me to reach her office will give her some time to cool down before I arrive. 

> _"Trash chute, actually. Long story."_
> 
> _"Are you fucking kidding me right now?"_

Crystal cursing in written form is never a good sign. Perhaps twenty minutes won't be enough time after all.

> _"Unfortunately, I'm not. I'll explain when I get there, but I really am OKAY. DO NOT call Valerie. I'm serious."_

When I arrive at her office, Crystal is waiting for me behind the front desk and wastes no time ushering me back into the private room that she has set up to do my ultrasound.

As soon as the door shuts, she lays into me.

"You promised me, Dana. You promised me that you were going to take it easy. That is the ONLY reason I signed off on your field release."

"I can assure you that I am just as upset by this as you are. I was supposed to just be a consult. I never imagined—"

"How many floors?"

"Three, I think."

Crystals eyes go wide as she cuts me off.

"You  _think_? Jesus, Dana, did you hit your head?"

"I was on the fourth floor, but my fall was broken by several decades worth of trash, so with that calculated in I think it was closer to three floors than four," I say, raising my hand to silence her before she can interrupt me. "I'm a bit sore and have several bruises, but I didn't take any direct blows to my stomach or head and haven't had any abnormal cramping or spotting. I really do think that everything is fine. I feel fine. I even puked at my regular time this morning … I just … I just needed to hear her heartbeat. I just need to be sure."

At the mention of the baby's sex, Crystal's expression softens.

Nodding her head toward the exam table, she directs me to rearrange my clothing and lay down.

Within a few minutes, there is ultrasound gel on my stomach, and a sound that resembles the galloping of hooves as they beat against the ground fills the room. The sound immediately brings tears to my eyes, because it's the sound of her heart beating at 142 beats per minute. A beat that is strong, healthy, and completely normal. I'm too mesmerized by the image in front me and the sound reverberating in my ears to stop the tears as they track down my cheeks.

"You have to slow down, Dana," Crystal says softly, as she moves the sound head around to capture various angles of the child growing inside of me.

Turning my head away from the image and up towards the ceiling, I close my eyes and focus on the heartbeat.

"I know," I whisper.

Turning my head and opening my eyes to meet hers as she removes the sound head from my abdomen, I see that her expression has softened, but she is very clearly still troubled by my fall and my insistence to remain in the field. Clearing my throat, I take the tissue she offers me, and dot my eyes as she uses a towel to clean up the gel on both my stomach and the sound head.

"You can stop looking at me like that, " I tell her as I roll to my side and sit up to face her. "I'm not going to take any more chances, Crystal. I know what's at stake, and once Mulder knows it will be a non-issue anyway. He's not going to want me out into the field. I'll be lucky if he even lets me set the table."

Giving me a knowing glance, she hands me another tissue as I begin to readjust my clothes.

"How much longer are going to do this to him and to yourself?" she asks. "It's been almost a week, Dana, and everything looks perfect."

She's doing her best to keep the judgment out of her voice, but her opinion is clear. She doesn't agree with my decision to keep this from Mulder.

"I have an analysis running on one of the older computers in our office that isn't connected to the internet or any of the mainframes. Genome sequencing takes time, and finding an open gap in the lab to prepare the samples and get everything programmed without someone looking over my shoulder or questioning me about which case I was working on wasn't easy. The results should be ready to read in the morning."

"And if you find what you suspect?" she asks cautiously.

"Then … at least we will know. We … we were flying blind last time," I say, zipping up my jacket. "This time I know what to look for and what it means."

She's silent for a moment, watching me closely as I slip on my shoes and make my way to the mirror above the sink to check my makeup.

"Well," she says, catching my eyes in the mirror as she comes to stand behind me, "I do have to admit that you look quite stunning for someone who fell three to four stories down a trash chute and into several decades worth of trash."

Dampening the edge of a paper towel, I smooth over my smeared makeup.

"I told you I was fine."

It comes out more defensive and curt than I mean for it too, but I have point to make, and it's important that she hears me.

"Dana …"

"Crystal," I say as I turn to face her, "if you amend my field release, it will draw unnecessary attention, and it's critical that I keep this quiet for as long as I can. Trust me, what happened yesterday was enough to keep me tied to my desk for a while."

Studying me, she nods silently.

"Just promise me something. Something else," she says.

"What?"

"That if you're in danger, you'll tell me."

"Crystal—"

"Promise me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because that's not that simple, and it's not a promise that I can keep."

"Dana—"

"You don't understand what you are asking."

Crystal is quiet for a moment before she responds.

"If you're going to say that it's too danger—"

"It is."

The intensity of the look I give her is enough to momentarily silence her, but I can tell that she's not happy about it. I want to say something to relieve the tension in the room, but there is nothing that I can say that will make her feel any better about it.

It would be easier if she were angry, but she's not. She's hurt.

"You don't have to do everything alone, you know," she says, as she watches stretch myself across the countertop to reach the trash and throw the paper towel away. "You told me before that they got away with it because what they were doing was so ludicrous that it served to protect itself, but that's not the only reason they got away with it. It's much easier to defeat a rogue general than it is to defeat an army."

Her voice is even and quiet, but her point packs a punch.

For a moment, neither of us speak.

She's not wrong. There's no denying the power of resources and allies, but for Mulder and I, those have always come at a cost. The vast majority of those who have come to our aid at critical periods are either dead or have vanished without a trace. I can't do that Crystal. She's young, brilliant, and has her entire life ahead of her. I don't want for her what has become of me. The choice I had twenty-five years ago no longer exists. For me, there is no turning back. I've made my choice, but it doesn't have to be that way for her. I've already placed her at risk just by asking this of her, asking anything more of her is unfathomable.

But I also know Crystal, and when I look at her, I see a younger version of myself. With that in mind, I pick up her prescription pad and begin to write.

"There may come a time when you need someone that you can trust. When and if that time comes, this is the only person you can trust," I tell her, handing her the prescription pad.

"And Mulder?"

"Wherever I am is where he will be."

Sharing a knowing glance, we close the distance between us and embrace.

"Thank you, Crystal … for everything," I tell her, giving her one last squeeze before I begin to gather my things to leave.

"Dana," she says, causing me to pause at the door.

"My door is always open, and my offer still stands."

"I know. I just pray that … for both of our sakes, it doesn't come to that."

And with that, I make my exit.

 

* * *

 

I had initially planned to return to the office to pick Mulder up, but instead, I find myself at the front steps of the Cathedral of the Sacraments in Georgetown. Turning off the ignition, I place my hand over my abdomen and rest my head against the headrest as I watch the rain spatter against the windshield.

_" … that's not the only reason they got away with it."_

Crystal wasn't wrong. Remaining silent has bought us time, but not freedom. All that silence has ever afforded us is limbo and living day to day while waiting for the next shoe to drop is not living. Mulder had understood that from the very beginning.

The stakes are just as high now as they have ever been, if not higher. I don't know what to expect from the analysis currently running in our office, but the more think about it, the less I think that it matters.

**_"It'll never be over. They'll always know what he was. They'll never accept what he is."_ **

Jeffrey Spender had uttered those words to me in an interrogation room seventeen years ago and I had taken him seriously, but I had also been naive. Giving William up for adoption was one of the hardest things that I have ever done, but it had not been enough. The same will be true for the life currently growing inside of me. Having little to no alien DNA will not spare her. She will be of interest because she is ours — a part of Mulder and me ... and of William. Of all the choices to make, there is really only one choice. All of the others are wrong. I see that now. It's what Mulder has seen all along.

Having reached a decision, I dial Mulder's cell. He answers on the second ring.

"Hey, are you on your way back to the office?" he asks.

"No. Actually, I'm not … I was hoping that you would be okay with calling a cab."

He's quiet for a moment before he responds.

"Okay," he says hesitantly.

"Can you meet me at the Cathedral of Sacraments in Georgetown?"

"Yes. I can do that. Is … is everything alright?"

"Yes," I say gently. "Everything is fine. I just … I just need some time here and … I'd like for you to join me."

"What time?"

"I just pulled up, so just whenever you are ready."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay," I say quietly, trying desperately to keep my emotions in check.

"And, Scully?"

"Yes?"

"Leave the last candle for me."

His request is so unexpected that it momentarily stuns me into silence. I take a quiet, easy breath as tears form in my eyes. I keep my response short in an attempt to hide the effect that his words have had on me. Him hearing the emotion in my voice will only serve to worry him more, and I don't want to worry him any more than what I already have.

"Okay," I say quietly.

I expect him to question me more or to comment on the change in my voice but he doesn't.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he says, ending the call.

For the next few minutes, I sit in silence.

The decisions Mulder and I make tonight will change the course of both of our lives forever. That, in and of itself, is enough to give anyone pause, but the time for reflection has passed. I can no longer teeter along the edge. The time for limbo has passed. It's time to jump.

Taking a deep, even breath, I put my phone in my pocket and stow my wallet in the center console before zipping up my jacket and pulling the hood up to cover my head. Forgoing the umbrella, I step out into the rain and walk briskly, pausing only briefly under the awning at the entrance to brush off the water droplets from my jacket and remove my hood before I enter.

The lighting inside is limited, giving the inside of the sanctuary dim, colorful hue as the natural light from outside flows in through the stained glass. I take my time making my way to the front, running my fingers along the crafted oak of the pews as I admire the architecture and stained glass. When I moved to Georgetown in 1992, I had attended mass here regularly, but as time passed and I became more engrossed with my work, I had attended less and less. I hadn't initially planned to have this conversation here, but now that I'm here, I'm overwhelmed by the history and symbolism.

There are numerous places within the sanctuary that I could choose to pray, but I make my way to the front corner of the church with purpose. Not stopping until I reach the very place that I had prayed nearly every night for three months for Mulder to be returned to me so that I could tell him that he was going to be a father. Following his death, I had come here to grieve and pray for the safety of our unborn child.

Mulder's absence and William's birth had brought me back to this place time and again. William had been christened here, and it was here, in this very church that I first met with the social worker who would take our son away. That memory above all others resides in my mind as I lift my hand to grasp the candle lighter and light the first candle.

Once I start, I don't stop, pausing only as I come to the last two candles, lighting one but not the other.

I sense Mulder's presence before I hear or see him.

He doesn't speak as he walks down the aisle, but I can hear the light patter of his feet as he moves across the marble floor. When he approaches me from behind, the last candle lit extinguishes on its own.

 **"That must be a sign,"**  I say, both startled and humored by the loss of flame.  **"I'm all out of miracles … Turn back … Give up … Accept your place in the numbing embrace of the status quo."**

The smirk that lines his lips lets me know that he witnessed the candle extinguish as he approached, but he doesn't comment on it directly. Instead, he reaches for a candle lighter and places the flame back over the candle, relighting it for me.

**"Mm-Mmm … I will … Relight your candle and extend your prayers through mine."**

**"What prayers?"**  I ask, unable to hide my surprise.

**"I can't tell you. They won't come true."**

**"It's a prayer candle, Mulder. Not a birthday cake."**

As my light laughter fills the space around us, his shoulders relax. He's hiding it well, but he's anxious and unsure of why I've asked him to come here.

 **"Prayers aren't meant to be sentiment. It's a conversation. You can do it like a meditation, or if your needs exceed your grasp, you can ask God to act on your behalf. But you don't believe in God. So you'd essentially be talking to yourself,"**  I say, curious to see how he will respond.

**"Well I — I may not believe in God, but I believe in you. Therefore, I speak to him through you. Through the transitive property of equality. If "A" equals "B" and "B" equals "C", therefore, "A" equals "C." Reason and faith in harmony. Isn't that why we are so good together?"**

**"Are we together?"**  I ask.

He holds my gaze only briefly, before dropping his eyes the floor. He opens his mouth to speak but then closes it. The look of devastation that crosses his features as he searches for the right words unsettles my stomach, but I let the silence linger for a moment anyway. Not because I want to hurt him, but because I have a point to make. I'm tired of dancing around the conversations that matter.

I'm tired of running.

I'm tired of limbo.

I'm ready to jump.

Without giving him a chance to speak, I break our uncomfortable silence and press forward, wanting to make sure that what comes next is not misunderstood.

**"You know, I believed that I could protect our son, and I failed. I believed we could live together, and I fled. I gave up on that, too."**

So much of what has been discussed over the years has been about him. His darkness. His truth. But he isn't the only one who has failed. Mulder blames himself for so many things, but not all of the shame is his to bear.

**"If only you'd fled earlier. You know how many times I've envisioned that scenario, where you left that basement office before I even needed glasses. You'd have your health, your dog, your sister … You'd be Kersh's boss at the FBI, and be married to some brain surgeon, and have a bunch of kids that you wouldn't have to give up."**

The pain and honesty I see in his eyes as he speaks breaks my heart. When Mulder was returned me all those years ago, it had been easy for him to assume that the child growing inside of me was not his to claim, because when it came to love, intimacy, and family, he had never truly believed that he deserved any of those things. His childhood had left him so damaged and broken that he grew up believing that he didn't deserve to be loved. He's never been able to accept that loving him was  _my_  choice. Not a neurosurgeon. Not a house in Mayberry with a white picket fence. Not a minivan full of children.  _Him_.

 **"Mulder, I don't begrudge you any of those things. That's not what I was talking about,"** I tell him softly, as I search for the right words to get my point across.

**"Well, what are you talking about, Scully? Because I don't know if any God is listening, but I am standing right here, and I am listening. Right beside you. I'm all ears. That's my choice."**

Looking into his eyes now, I almost cave. I want so desperately to tell him about the life growing inside of me, but there is something else that has to come first. Briefly scanning the sanctuary to ensure that we are alone, I lean forward and brush my body against his, taking his hand in mine and whispering my hope for our future into his ear in a way that only he will understand.

_"I'm tired of losing battles, Mulder. I'm ready to win the war."_

Removing my hand from his, I take a step back and wait for my words to register. For a moment, his eyes remain fixed on the floor in contemplation of my words and their meaning, but when they rise to meet mine, I see the recognition and the current of emotion brewing within them.

 **"That's not my four-year-old self looking for a miracle,"** I tell him. **"That's my leap of faith forward. And I'd like to do it together."**

At first, he says nothing, studying me intently as he measures my words. For years I begged him to step away from the darkness and to choose me … and when he had refused to blink, I had left him.

Now, all these years later, I'm asking him to take my hand and to shine light into the darkest corners.

Only this time, I'm not going to follow him. This time, I'm going to lead.

Nodding, he swallows the lump in his throat and holds my gaze as he speaks.

**"I've always wondered how this was gonna end."**

Taking the candle lighter in his hand, he lights the last candle in a silent vow to follow me wherever I may lead him — for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks again to ATTHS_TWICE and admiralty for their suggestions and edits.
> 
> Two more chapters to go ... Possibly three! But first, I have a Valentine's Day challenge to complete, so be on the lookout for a new story unrelated to this series on February 16th :)
> 
> As always, thank you for your patience and for following this series!


	18. Yours, Mine, and Ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 11x09 Nothing Lasts Forever
> 
> Scully shows Mulder the smart house remodel and reveals what she wants for their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for the delay in updating this series. My New Years resolution this year was to get better at saying _no_ and to not take on too many projects at once. So far, I'm royally mucking that up, and my writing time has dwindled as a consequence of that. And for that, I sincerely apologize.
> 
> There will be two more chapters for this work and then a follow-up series which will be titled, _Alien_. _Alien_ was posted on my account at one point, but writing _Transitive Property of Equality_ inspired me to rework _Alien_ and take it in a different direction. For that reason, I made the decision to take the work down in order to revise and revamp, BUT it will make a reappearance once _Transitive Property of Equality_ is concluded. Thank you for sticking with me and supporting this series!! I promise to make each update worth the wait ;)
> 
> As per usual, a huge thank you and shout-out to ATTHS_TWICE and admiralty for their edits and suggestions on this chapter.

**MULDER**

The significance of her leaving the last candle unlit at my request is not lost on me as I watch the tiny flames of light bounce before us.

_"I'm tired of losing battles, Mulder. I'm ready to win the war."_

Of all the things I expected her to say, the words she whispered in my ear were not among them. The last four years have been absolute hell. Not to say that the years that preceded them were easy, but waking up every morning to face the aftermath of us without being us was devastating. But now, as I stand in a dimly lit sanctuary and look into her eyes, I know that it was right. As painful as our separation has been, everything that has happened in the last four years has led up to this very moment, and this moment is everything.

Her words are words of commitment.

It's a promise laced with an apology — a leap of faith forward.

I've never been a religious man, but as we leave the church hand in hand, there is a feeling of wholeness that even I cannot deny. When we reach the passenger side of her car, Scully removes her hand from mine long enough to retrieve her keys from her pocket. For a moment, I'm confused as to why she is handing them to me. Both of our vehicles are keyless entry and start, making a hand-off unnecessary. But as my eyes meet hers, there is no mistaking her intent. It's a gesture of symbolism, not of necessity. She wants her keys to be in my possession. She wants me to take her home. Taking the keys from her outstretched hand, I open her door, ushering her into the car and out of the drizzling rain.

No words are spoken as I settle into the driver's seat, pull away from the curb, and reach for her hand. Intertwining my fingers with hers, I begin to navigate my way back towards the interstate.

"There's something I'd like to do before we go home," she says softly, tilting her face to assess mine as she breaks our silence.

"Okay."

Usually, when we've been out of town or on the road for several days, Scully is eager to get home, so I'm bit surprised that she wants to make a pit stop elsewhere. Though I've kept my tone neutral, it's clear that she has picked up on my hesitancy and piqued curiosity when she begins to speak again.

"There's something that I'd like to show you. Something that I've been working on at the house … for us."

She doesn't specify the location specifically, but she doesn't have to. She's referring to her home in Bethesda.

For the past several weeks, I've refrained from asking her questions regarding the smart house remodel in fear that I would be unable to hide my dismay and frustration at her decision to keep her home in the city. Three weeks ago, while in our bed skin to skin with me still inside of her, she had promised me soon. Yet, here we are, three weeks later, en route to a house on the outskirts of D.C. that she clearly has no interest in selling. It's confusing and incredibly frustrating. I want her so desperately, but I'm also not naive to the fact that her hesitancy to jump has everything to do with me and the man I was before.

Picking up on the mental ping pong occurring inside of me as I change lanes to accommodate her request, Scully intertwines her fingers more intimately with mine and begins to rub soft circles across the top of my hand with her thumb. The tenderness of her touch immediately calms me and gives me the courage I need to press forward into the unknown.

As we pull up in front of her house and get out of the car, it occurs to me that I haven't been here since the morning after the explosion. For one reason or another, I wasn't with her when she met with the contractors or stopped by to check on progress. The sudden realization gives me pause. Had she orchestrated it that way on purpose to keep me away? And if so, why?

"Mulder?"

Her voice is soft but questioning, momentarily distracting me from the sinking feeling developing in the pit of my stomach.

"It's the gold key on the end."

It takes her mentioning the key for it dawn on me that reason we are still standing awkwardly at her front door is because she doesn't have her keys. I do. Raising her brow, she smirks as she watches me fumble my way through my pockets. When I find them, I try to hand them off to her, but she makes no move to reach for them. Instead, she shoves her hands deeper into her pockets and nods towards the door, her intent clear. She wants me to lead.

As soon as I cross the threshold, I immediately know that something is different. At first, I can't place it. But as she brushes past me to disable the alarm, my eyes see what my body immediately sensed. The house is darker and not just because there aren't any lights on. It's darker because she has changed the color of the walls and added window coverings, giving it an entirely different feel. Different, yet at the same time, oddly familiar.

Curious and disbelieving, I come to stand beside her as she silences the incessant humming of the alarm, stopping just short of the entryway to the living room.

When my eyes lower to meet hers, she doesn't speak, but I can see the glow of nervous excitement in her eyes. That's when I know for sure that whatever it is that she has been keeping from me is waiting for me on the other side of the threshold.

She studies me carefully as I step past her and into the living room, staying behind me as I take in the sight before me.

The first thing that catches my eye is the large leather couch positioned in the center of the room. The leather has a worn, rustic look to it that reminds me of a couch we once shared in an unremarkable cabin off of [York River](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816564/chapters/42036152). But it's not the couch itself that catches me off-guard and renders me speechless. It's the blanket.

I haven't seen the large Aztec blanket folded neatly over the back of the couch in years, but I would recognize it anywhere. For weeks after she left, I went through the numbing process of discovering what all she had taken with her through the process of elimination. The blanket and the pictures had been the two things that had unsettled me the most. Not because I hadn't wanted her to have them but because of the sentimental value they held.

Making my way across the room to stand in front of the couch, I brush my fingers over the blanket, swallowing the lump in my throat as I pick at its edge. Its softness and weight are painfully familiar.

Her having it so prominently displayed is most certainly not without purpose. It's a message — a page maker to a new chapter and new beginnings. I start to turn towards her to speak but am stopped short when my eyes flow across the room and settle on the three prominently displayed pictures above the fireplace.

The first one that catches my eye is the one of William. I immediately recognize it as being one of the photos she found in William's bedroom in Norfolk. Making my way across the room, I pick it up and run my fingers across the edges of the frame in admiration. He's standing in his crib looking up at the camera and smiling with a sense of elation and wonder that brings tears to my eyes. His complexion, nose, and eyes are Scully's, but the goofy grin on his face and the mischief in his eyes is all me. Here, there is no denying that he is ours.

I'm so entranced by the photo, that I don't sense her coming up behind me until her arms are wrapping around my waist.

"Scully, I …"

Sensing my hesitance and undoubtedly hearing the emotion clinging to my voice, she tightens her grip around me and kisses me lightly in the center of my back as she rests her head against me.

"I'm done hiding the things that are the most precious to me, Mulder," she says quietly. "He may not be with us, but that doesn't make him any less ours."

Nodding, I lower one of my hands to rest over hers and place the picture back on the mantel, shifting my eyes to the other two photos. A smile tugs at my lips as I run my fingers across the frame of the next photograph. Amidst the chaos and destruction that the Russians delivered, Scully had somehow managed to find the other copy of the picture she had so openly admired in our bedroom on the night that I brought her home from the hospital. The love and joy reflected in our smiles is undeniable and infectious, but the soft smile that tugs at my lips as I admire it is short-lived as my eyes shift to the picture alongside it.

The last picture is not one that I've seen before, but as I study it more closely, I remember Bill begrudgingly taking it. It's a picture of me, Scully, Maggie, and William shortly after he was born.

It was taken before I left. The smiles on our faces give no indication of what is to come. None of us recognizing that all of our lives were about to be irreversibly tarnished and turned upside-down.

The tears I fought back earlier now flow freely as I think of my mother-in-law.

Giving William up for adoption hadn't just devastated us, it had devastated Scully's entire family — Maggie especially. What I have put Scully and her sweet mother through is still something that weighs heavily on me. Scully is quick to dismiss my guilt and insist that she is equally responsible, but she's not. She's always been a lamb at the altar of my quest, and for that, I will forever hold myself accountable.

"She always defended you, you know," Scully says with a light chuckle. "It used to royally piss me off. She was my mother, but she adored you. You could do no wrong. She loved you as if you were her own son."

"She always treated me far greater than what I ever deserved. I never thanked her enough for that."

"Don't say that," she says, her voice quiet and somber.

"Say what?" I ask, placing the photograph back on the mantel as I move to shift my body to turn and face hers.

Loosening her grip, she unentangles her arms from around my waist and rests them along my sides.

"That she treated greater than you deserved. You deserved her love. Just as you deserve mine."

Without giving me a chance to reply, she raises up on the tips of her toes and presses her lips against mine. Her kiss is chaste and sweet, but the lack of intensity behind it doesn't make it any less meaningful. As our lips part and our eyes meet, I struggle to formulate words to express the emotions brewing inside of me adequately. Raising my hand to brush along the side of her face, I study her expression carefully, listening to the unspoken words that her eyes are whispering to me.

Just as I'm about to open my mouth to speak, a light tap and the sound of bubbling water resonates, diverting my attention to a blue hue of light off to my right that I had missed entirely when I first entered. Sitting in the reconfigured shelving alongside the fireplace is an aquarium similar in size to the one I once had when we first met, only this one is much more elaborate and sophisticated.

When my eyes briefly return to hers, she answers my questioning glance with a soft smile and shrug of her shoulders. Shifting my body, I squat down to assess the motorized spaceship hovering near the surface of the water as it taps lightly at the glass and moves across the aquarium in a sequenced pattern, illuminating the grass below with alternating shades of color.

The mollies, who have clearly habituated to the ship's movement, are unimpressed with the technology and landscaping. I'm so intrigued by the ship that I nearly miss the Sasquatch lurking in the grass. It catches my eye only as the spaceship passes over it, casting a bright yellow light onto its head peeking through the tall grass. Unable to hold back my snort of laughter, I wipe at the tears that had fallen moments earlier as I turn to face Scully.

"Is this what Crystal came to help you set up?" I ask as I attempt to rein in the emotion bubbling up inside of me.

"Yes. She also helped me arrange the furniture and hang the curtains," she says, nodding her head in the direction of the large windows that line the back wall of the living room. "Those were a bitch to hang."

I break eye contact with her just long enough to look over at the curtains and scan the rest of the room. The decor would have taken her a great deal of time to set up alone, so I'm thankful that she asked for help, even if I'm confused as to why it was necessary in the first place. From the moment I stepped into the room, I understood what she had done. What I don't understand is why.

"Scully … this is … I don't understand what this means."

Nodding, she takes my hand in hers, squeezing it as she leads me to the edge of cabinetry where she grabs a large envelope strategically tucked in between the aquarium and the wall. I wordlessly follow her across the room and settle on the couch alongside her. I give her a moment, watching her closely as she nervously picks at the envelope and searches for the right words, but when her mouth opens and closes for the second time, and she diverts her eyes, I prod her.

"Scully?"

"I … I considered putting the house on the market after the repairs were made," she says, her tone serious as her eyes raise to meet mine. "But with the hours we are working and the commute to Farrs Corner being two hours on a good day … I … I want us to have time, Mulder. I don't want to spend every morning rushing to get out of bed and on the road. I want to get out of the car. I don't want to make the same mistakes."

"Scully—"

"I told you before that this house wasn't a home … and that's still true. I … You were right. This place … it wasn't me. It wasn't me because it wasn't us. There will be a time to put this place on the market, and when that time comes, it's not something I want to do alone. I want it to be a chapter we close together."

Opening the envelope, she hands me a series of clipped documents. Each of them tabbed with various highlights and signature lines. It only takes a moment of scanning for me to realize what I'm looking at and the significance of it. She's already signed all of them. All the documents lack is my signature.

Our home in Farrs Corner has always been technically hers. At the time we purchased it, it wasn't safe or feasible for my name to appear on any of the paperwork. She had tried to sign the house over to me after she left, but I had refused to sign. We haven't discussed the matter since then, but as I thumb through the papers, it becomes clear that she has given the matter a great deal of thought. There are two separate documents, one for Farrs Corner and one for Bethesda. As soon as I sign my name, they both become ours.

The papers that follow outline the extent of her holdings, both personal and inherited. Again, all they required is my signature.

"Scully … I … this is … a lot."

"It's a leap of faith forward," she whispers, moving her hand to rest over mine.

Swallowing, I look deeply into her eyes, raising the hand not covered by hers to wipe at the tears forming as she continues to speak.

"For the longest time, we were forced to hide what we shared. Either for our own safety or the sake of our careers. It was never clean. It was always messy and convoluted. I don't want that anymore. I don't want it to be something we hide."

"I just want you … in any capacity that you will have me. The rest—"

"Is just stuff … stuff that doesn't matter?"

I nod, remaining silent as I assess her expression. Breaking our eye contact, she looks across the room at the aquarium as she searches for the right words.

"I used to tell myself that too. It was easier to convince myself that what I couldn't have wasn't necessary. What I failed to recognize was the power of symbols. Having this drawn up isn't about  _stuff_ , Mulder. Not really. It's about what it represents. It's about symbolism. No more yours or mine … just … ours."

"Ours?"

"Yes. Ours."

This time when our lips meet there is nothing chaste about it. Pushing the paperwork aside, she straddles my lap as we taste and explore until the need to breathe supersedes our desire to be one. As our lips part, she brushes her nose lightly across mine as our breath mingles.

For a moment neither of us speak, each of us basking in the significance of this moment in our history.

"Do you have a pen?" I ask her quietly, breaking our silence as I run my hands up and down her sides.

"In the kitchen."

"Hmmm …"

When she moves to get off my lap to retrieve one, I halt her movement, dropping my hands to rest over her hips and anchoring her in place.

"It's waited this long, Scully. Surely it can wait another thirty minutes."

"Just thirty?"

There is nothing in her playful, lust-filled eyes that inspires my inner gentlemen, but I taper down the beast inside of me because it's not what I want. What I want is to lay her down on the blanket I covered her with so reverently nearly two decades ago and make love to her like it's the first time. I don't want to rush. I want to take my time.

Raising my hands from her hips, I caress her sides and brush my lips against hers. Our mouths and bodies move as one, stroking each other under our clothes. We're still fully clothed, but move against each other as if the last barrier has already been removed. The heat in the room rises until neither of us can take it any longer. Standing, we pull at each other's clothes until nothing remains.

Unable to resist, I momentarily stop her wandering hands and put a bit of distance between us so that can openly admire her. Time hasn't touched her. If anything, it's magnified her. She's fucking gorgeous. She always has been.

She starts to speak, but I silence her, placing my fingertips on her lips as I reach for the blanket, unfold it, and drape it across the leather cushions.

"Lie down, Scully."

The look she gives me is one of curiosity, but she obliges without question. Laying down on her back in the center of the couch, she spreads her legs in a silent invitation that diverts what little blood I have remaining south of the border.

Kissing her lips softly, I drape myself over her, stopping short of making full contact as I admire the picture she makes beneath me.

"Talk to me, Mulder," she whispers. "Tell me what you are thinking."

"I'm thinking about a night we spent on a couch very similar to this one."

"Mmmm … I thought about that night too … when I bought this one."

Her confession doesn't surprise me, especially given that York River was the first thing that came to mind when I saw it as well.

"I'm also thinking about this," I say, grasping her hand before she reaches her desired destination and guiding it rest on the blanket below us. "It's been eighteen years … but nothing has changed. I still want you just as badly now as I did then."

"And you have me. All of me."

Though the words are not spoken directly, the look that passes between us is clear.  _This_  is forever. It's a fresh start — a new beginning. And this time, no matter how tough it gets, neither of us are going to walk away.  _This_  is for better or worse.

I kiss her deeply, doing my best to steal the air from her lungs as my hands lower to caress her breasts. The moan my touch elicits goes straight to my groin. Scully has always appreciated my infatuation with her breasts, but the jolt of pleasure that surges through her coupled with sounds she's making as I play with them tonight is different enough to make me pause and question her with my eyes.

"It's … my hormones … they've been fluctuating," she says, gasping as I run my fingers across her nipples. "So they're … really sensitive."

"Do you want me to—"

"No," she says quickly. "It's a good thing … it's just … it's not going to take much."

"Good to know," I say, lowering my lips to hers once again.

As the kiss deepens, she raises her legs, rubbing the insides of her thighs against my sides as she moans in my mouth. Within minutes her legs are wrapped firmly around my waist, drawing me closer and encouraging my caress as she moves beneath me and presses her body more fully against mine. Without words, she's telling me exactly what she wants.

Tonight, she doesn't want something long and strung out. She just wants me.

Lowering my hand to caress her center, I coat myself with her fluids, circling her entrance as I begin to dip my fingers inside of her and rub my thumb across her clit. Her response is immediate. Arching her back, she gasps, breaking our kiss as she throws her head back and lowers her hand to rest over mine.

"Just you, Mulder," she moans, stilling my hand over her center. "I just want you."

The look in her eyes as she speaks to me ensures that I will deny her nothing.

"Okay."

Tilting her hips and shifting her weight beneath me, she looks deeply into my eyes as I coat myself with her arousal and place myself at her entrance. For a moment, time freezes. Dozens of memories infiltrate my system as I look down upon her and think of all the years I've wasted searching for the truth when it has been right in front of me for twenty-five years. She's my truth. She's my everything. And I'm not going to waste another moment not showing her.

I enter her slowly, basking in how amazing she feels and how magical her skin feels against mine as we begin to move against each other in a dance we know all too well. I try to slow myself down as I pump into her, but Scully knows my body too well and she feels too good. Within minutes we are sweating, panting, and moaning the other's name, each of us playing the other's body as if it's a finely tuned instrument as our mutual pleasure builds.

When she reaches the point of no return, I position myself to watch, and  _God_  is she beautiful. Watching her has always made every shitty thing that has ever happened to me worth it.

I hold out as long as I can to extend her pleasure, but by the time she rides out the last wave of her orgasm, I have nothing left and explode within her as I collapse on top of her. Sex with Scully has always been sensory overload, and tonight has been no exception. Whispering words across her skin, I fight to catch my breath and reorient myself to my surroundings.

"You're amazing, Scully. Absolutely amazing."

"Pot calling the kettle black," she replies, her voice raspy and laced with satisfaction.

Chuckling, I roll slightly to my side, pushing my backside into back cushions of the couch to take some of my weight off of hers and expose her body to my gaze. She's fifty-four years old but doesn't look a day over forty. She's glowing, and she's absolutely stunning. Unable to keep my hands off of her, I run my fingers lightly across her breasts and then across her stomach, causing her to shiver.

"Want to finish this in bed?" I ask, well aware of the fact that she isn't cold.

Raising her brow, she gives me look of question as she looks down at the softening member wedged between us.

"Surely you didn't think after  _that_ , I'd be done."

"Mmm … no … not you," she says playfully, raising her hand to run her fingers through my hair. "But not here. I want you to take me home."

"Doesn't this technically count as home now?" I ask, nodding down to the stack of papers now splayed across the floor.

Shaking her head from side to side, she moves her hand to rest over mine, stilling my caress.

"It's ours, but it's not home."

Few words are spoken as we gather our clothes and dress.

Eighteen years after our monumental jump, we are finally going home. No more yours and mine. Only ours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The couch in the unremarkable cabin on York River mentioned in this chapter is a direct reference to another MSR series I am working on titled _God is a Woman_ (which I've linked above), so in the event that you haven't checked that out, I highly recommend it for your reading pleasure. I mean, how can one go wrong with a snowed-in post _All Things_ fic? Smut advisory in full effect. You've been warned ;)


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